A letter from the other side

Dear lady opposite me in the waiting room,  

I don't know you. But I know your friend. I knew your friend. 

It isn't your frail body or the fear in your eyes that draw me to you as I take my seat opposite to you; the other side of me. It isn't the breaking in your voice or the crooked upturn of your smile that gives away that you're not quite ok. I've sat where you're sitting now. I too looked everyone who came through those double doors up and down with anxiety, paranoia and a competitive desperation to be thinner. I wince at your pain as you try to adjust your back to the grooves of leather behind you, knowing that all you feel is your spine grating against it from top to bottom,  pretending to maintain conversation with your nurse next to you when all you can really focus on is the feeling of deep, unbearable hunger ripping through your insides. 

I wish I could swap seats with you just for a minute for you to see that where you're sitting is not permanent. Those protruding bones and delicate legs will soon no longer need crutches to walk, and your heart does indeed have the capability to beat against the grain of anorexia, despite it's slow thumping behind your sore ribs, desperately working to relieve the numbness of those blue nails and transparent knuckles. Please don't resist the the weigh-ins, the exercise bans or fight for your driving licence back; the restoration of your physical health is more important right now, I promise. I know the ache in your jaw will remind you of breaking days on end with nothing but water to sustain you but you have to move it. You'll want to rip your skin off when you feel the first mouthful of food grip your throat like grains of sand, but you have to eat. 

Please try your hardest to offer transparency to those supporting you. I know it hurts to be honest and everything but the crutch of starvation feels like a threat, but this is the only way to loosen its grasp around your tired lungs; to silence the noise as you sob through a teaspoon of milk in your coffee. Believe me when I tell you that the smell of food will become one that is linked with nourishment, not a fear that through the atmosphere, you will somehow gain weight and lose control. You will be able to walk past a bakery again without your head bowed and down the dairy aisle of a supermarket without an overwhelming fear that pounds of fat will seep through your pores. Hell, you'll be able to brush your teeth without shaking, crying about the calories in toothpaste or mouthwash that you use to conceal the stench of acid rising in your throat. 

You can win, but you have to want it. Really, really want it. Even in deep darkness, if you close your eyes tightly enough, you can see whizzes of colour waiting to escape. So reach for it and want it more than the feeling of power and starvation, because I promise you, a strong body doesn't equal a fat one or a spiral in control; it means life and living. Recovery is a cycle, not a linear progression, revisiting areas of trauma and ways to move forward is not failing. 

See you on the other side and I'll show you what real friendship is, 

Your friend,

Recovery x