The demon
Anorexia/Bulimia exposed
People don’t really get what I mean by the voice of AB. AB
isn’t a figment of my imagination or an excuse to justify my behaviour. The
voice of Anorexia/Bulimia is a very real entity. A demonic force determined to
stay hidden. Determined to isolate and ultimately destroy its victims.
It’s incredible how the so called “experts” like to treat
people suffering with an eating disorder as the eating disorder itself. Why
can’t they recognize the presence of an external influence? They play directly
into AB’s hands by making the victim the one to blame for their condition. This
only pushes the suffer further away and causes the further internalization of
their relationship with AB. AB uses the therapists approach as “proof” that the
victim is in fact a failure and then reaffirms its plan to help “fix” the
sufferer. AB wins every time a therapist refuses to recognize its voice, presence
and influence.
Following is a letter from this Demonic Spirit Called
Anorexia/Bulimia.
Letter From Ana
Allow me to
introduce myself. My name, or as I am called by so called "doctors",
is Anorexia. Anorexia Nervosa is my full name, but you may call me Anna.
Hopefully we can become great partners. In the coming time, I will invest a lot
of time in you, and I expect the same from you.
In the past you have heard all of your teachers and parents talk about you. You
are "so mature", "intelligent", "14 going on 45",
and you possess "so much potential". Where has that gotten you, may I
ask? Absolutely nowhere! You are not perfect, you do not try hard enough,
further more you waste your time on thinking and talking with friends and
drawing! Such acts of indulgence shall not be allowed in the future.
Your friends do not understand you. They are not truthful. In the past, when
the insecurity has quietly gnawed away at your mind, and you asked them,
"Do I look...fat?" and they answered "Oh no, of course not"
you knew they were lying! Only I tell you the truth. Your parents, let's not
even go there! You know that they love you, and care for you, but part of that
is just that they are your parents and are obligated to do so. I shall tell you
a secret now: deep down inside themselves, they are disappointed with you.
Their daughter, the one with so much potential, has turned into a fat, lazy,
and undeserving girl.
But I am about to change all that.
I expect a lot from you. You are not allowed to eat much. It will start slowly:
decreasing of fat intake, reading the nutrition labels, cutting out junk food,
fried food, etc. For a while, the exercise will be simple: some running,
perhaps some crunches and some sit-ups. Nothing too serious. Perhaps drop a few
pounds, take a little off of that fat tub of a stomach. But it won't be long
before I tell you that it isn't good enough.
I will expect you to drop your calorie intake and up your exercise. I will push
you to the limit. You must take it because you cannot defy me! I am beginning
to imbed myself into you. Pretty soon, I am with you always. I am there when
you wake up in the morning and run to the scale. The numbers become both friend
and enemy, and the frenzied thoughts pray for them to be lower than yesterday,
last night, etc. You look into the mirror with dismay. You prod and poke at the
fat that is there, and smile when you come across bone. I am there when you
figure out the plan for the day: 400 calories, 2 hours exercise. I am the one
figuring this out, because by now my thoughts and your thoughts are blurring
together as one.
I follow you throughout the day. In school, when your mind wanders I give you
something to think about. Recount your calories for the day. It's too much. I
fill your mind with thoughts of food, weight, calories, and things that are
safe to think about. Because now, I am already inside of you. I am in your
head, your heart, and your soul. The hunger pains you pretend not to feel is
me, inside of you.
Pretty soon I am telling you not only what to do with food, but what to do ALL
of the time. Smile and nod. Present yourself well. Suck in that fat stomach,
dammit! God, you are such a fat cow!!! When mealtimes come around I tell you
what to do. I make a plate of lettuce seem like a feast fit for a king. Push
the food around. Make it look like you've eaten something. No piece of
anything... if you eat, all the control will be broken...do you WANT that?? To
revert back to the fat COW you once were?? I force you to stare at magazine
models. Those perfect skinned, white teethed, waifish models of perfection
staring out at you from those glossy pages. I make you realize that you could
never be them. You will always be fat and never will you be as beautiful as
they are. When you look in the mirror, I will distort the image. I will show
you obesity and hideousness. I will show you a sumo wrestler where in reality
there is a starving child. But you must know this, because if you knew the
truth, you might start to eat again and our relationship would come crashing
down.
Sometimes you will rebel. Hopefully not often though. You will recognize the
small rebellious fiber left in your body and will venture down to the dark
kitchen. The cupboard door will open slowly open, creaking softly. Your eyes
will move over the food cupboard door will slowly open, creaking softly. Your
eyes will move over the food that I have kept at a safe distance from you. You
will find your hands reaching out lethargically, like a nightmare, through the
darkness to the box of crackers. You shove them in, mechanically, not really
tasting but simply relishing in the fact that you are going against me. You
reach for another box, then another, then another. Your stomach will become
bloated and grotesque, but you will not stop yet. And all the time I am
screaming at you to stop, you fat cow, you really have no self-control, you are
going to get fat.
When it is over, you will cling to me again, ask me for advice because you
really do not want to get fat. You broke a cardinal rule and ate, and now you
want me back. I'll force you into the bathroom, onto your knees, staring into
the void of the toilet bowl. Your fingers will be inserted into your throat,
and, not without a great deal of pain, your food binge will come up. Over and
over this is to be repeated, until you spit up blood and water and you know it
is all gone. When you stand up, you will feel dizzy. Don't pass out. Stand up
right now. You fat cow you deserve to be in pain!
Maybe the choice of getting rid of the guilt is different. Maybe I chose to
make you take laxatives, where you sit on the toilet until the wee hours of the
morning, feeling your insides cringe. Or perhaps I just make you hurt yourself,
bang your head into the wall until you receive a throbbing headache. Cutting is
also effective. I want you to see your blood, to see it fall down your arm, and
in that split second you will realize you deserve whatever pain I give you. You
are depressed, obsessed, in pain, hurting, reaching out but no one will listen!
Who cares?! You are deserving; you brought this upon yourself.
Oh, is this harsh? Do you not want this to happen to you? Am I unfair? I do do
things that will help you. I make it possible for you to stop thinking of
emotions that cause you stress. Thoughts of anger, sadness, desperation, and
loneliness can cease because I take them away and fill your head with the methodic
calorie counting. I take away your struggle to fit in with kids your age, the
struggle of trying to please everyone as well. Because now, I am your only
friend, and I am the only one you need to please.
I have a weak spot. But we must not tell anyone. If you decide to fight back,
to reach out to someone and tell them about how I make you live, all hell will
break lose. No one must find out, no one can crack this shell that I have
covered you with. I have created you, this thin, perfect, achieving child. You
are mine and mine alone. Without me, you are nothing. So do not fight back.
When others comment, ignore them. Take it into stride, forget about them,
forget about everyone that tries to take me away. I am your greatest asset, and
I intend to keep it that way.
Sincerely, Anna
Can anyone relate? Does anyone recognise the voice of AB in
their own struggle? I have read comments from victims from different
backgrounds, nationalities ages etc. saying the exact same thing. Why is it that
everyone hears the same rhetoric?
I’ll leave you to decide…………………………….
