Dianosed vs. Undiagnosed

It was not until yesterday when I heard the sentence that I believed would validate the struggles I have been experiencing throughout the past year and a half.

“I have diagnosed you with anorexia, the restricting type.”

These words were spoken to me by my therapist, who informed me of my diagnosis and how matters were going to be pursued from then on.

During the worst points of my eating disorder, I never quite grasped the concept that I was among the thousands, possibly even millions, of boys and girls struggling with anorexia. I did not even think twice about having possibly developed an eating disorder; I simply believed that I was destined to diet and lose weight for the rest of my life.

I eventually came to terms with the fact that I had problems with the way I was eating, though only in the slightest, due to the realization that the worry from my family was genuine and not because they wanted me to be “fat”, and I therefore decided to try (emphasis on the word “try”) and join along on this arduous journey of recovery.

However, despite my discovery that I was indeed underweight and unhealthy, I still doubted myself in the back of my mind, my ED constantly reminding me that I was unworthy because I was not a “true anorexic”. So, because my eating disorder felt unsatisfied as a result of a lack of labeling, I still didn’t truly believe that I needed to recover. Be wary that I was fully aware of my issues with eating along with the facts that I lost lots of weight, hadn’t gotten my period for almost a year, and felt weak nearly every second of every day. I longed to hear these words coming out, and I truly believed that I did not deserve recovery due to the fact that I did not receive a diagnosis (and how wrong I was at that).

This hindered my progress in recovery; in fact, most of my relapses were caused by this frustration of not being diagnosed. I heard and read hundreds of stories from those in recovery, and in every single story the person struggling would be told their diagnosis. Thus, I felt obliged to believe that this diagnosis was mandatory in order to deserve recovery. I struggled with this for three or so months into recovery, having this constant debate in my mind of choosing recovery or relapse.

I don’t quite remember when, considering I have been “in recovery” for a little over a year now (I use quotations because I don’t believe I truly gave recovery my all for a good portion of this time), but I do know that I did manage to push past this point. I did lots of research and, after realizing that I fit the criteria of symptoms for anorexia, I pretty much self-diagnosed myself. I was able to progress with recovery, and even reach a state where I considered myself almost-recovered- that is, until the “undiagnosed” thoughts starting creeping back into my mind. I slowly but surely began drifting away from recovery, and hit the stage of relapse, where I suffered a great deal from two slip-ups, the most recent one occurring only a couple of months ago.

It genuinely frustrates me to have to think back on the many “slip-ups” I have fallen into throughout this journey to recovery. I always managed to go through this cycle, beginning with the choice of recovering to increasing, to feeling great, to having a few bad thoughts, to slightly restricting, to having even more awful thoughts, to completely restricting, and starting over again and again.

You might be aware that I only managed opened up to my family regarding my eating disorder only a few months ago, after having enough of these patterns in my life; my mom called to schedule a therapy session soon after. This was my first time seeking medical help, which is what I always wanted because I believed it would make me “deserve” recovery, and yet I still didn’t quite feel worthy enough.

But yesterday, when she told me I was anorexic, I expected a life change. I expected to be disappointed, upset, confused, frustrated- any sort of emotion. However, I was astonished to find that I felt exactly the same as the second before I was aware of my diagnosis. It was at that moment that I realized I knew all along, and although I will be honest and say that hearing my diagnosis made me satisfied for about a second, my disorder reacted to this by displaying a new distorted thought into my mind immediately out of fear that I would begin to part ways with it.

Your eating disorder is an ENEMY, and it is vital to constantly remind yourself of this. An eating disorder DOES NOT care for you or your body; its only priority is to make you hate yourself.

Here is my message to you: diagnosis does not and should not change ANYTHING. And neither should weight, BMI, hospitalization, etc. If you are aware that food is an issue, whether it be malnutrition, excessive eating, or any “abnormal” eating for that matter, that right there is a good enough reason to seek help! It will only be detrimental to you and your body to wait it out until you are “sick enough”, because you will never reach that point of satisfaction with an eating disorder. Although you may think otherwise, you know your body and your mind unlike anybody else, and despite what anyone thinks, if you believe that you have an eating disorder TELL SOMEONE. I guarantee you that, as long as you inform somebody that truly cares about you and someone who you deem trustworthy, you can recover from this. The thoughts will only get worse with time, so it is vital that you take initiative and prevent them from taking over your life. ❤