I was diagnosed with an eating disorder at the age of 12 (anorexia). Now at 21, it’s hard to remember what that felt like, does that mean I’ve lost part of myself?
I remember the little sticker suns best. A city of sunlight plastered on the walls, peeling at the edges. Lemonade colored, and water-stained from roof damage. I remember the fluorescent lights too, white-hot, and blinding. The constant flickering; a sharp hiss and a pop, followed by a steady hum, like the whole thing was stuffed with bumblebees. The cold is easy to recall. Bone deep and aching. It made my collarbones numb, the way your foot falls asleep. Hunger is the hardest to remember.
I like to think it’s because by that point I’d already gotten used to it. But the truth is I don’t think I remember the hunger because it didn’t feel like hunger. It was pain in your bones and stiff fingers. It was headaches and nausea, tinged with bile. It hurt. And when it did feel like hunger it was so much I couldn’t stand to feel it. I can remember curling into a ball and clutching my stomach but the actual feeling? The pit that grew till I couldn’t breathe? I can’t remember it.
Maybe it’s for the best that I don’t. That I just remember my lemonade suns and buzzing bees. But I feel like I’m missing part of the lesson. Like if I can’t remember the pain did it even really happen? In my experience, unless it leaves a scar you can never truly be sure it happened. And can you ever really learn from a hollow experience? Can you ever really heal from unfelt pain? Or are you doomed to repeat it until it sticks?
That’s my problem. I forget the pain so I forget the lesson. Or maybe I’m not meant to learn a lesson at all. Maybe the big things don’t teach you lessons the way I always thought. Maybe they don’t teach you anything but rather turn you into something.
Maybe there is no lesson here, just a chance to grow. Can you grow in a dimming memory? I think you can. Because even though I don’t remember the pain, I remember the suns. And I remember the bulbs that flicked and popped. I remember the parts that changed me, not the parts that hurt.
Maybe that’s what growth is. Leaving the pain and taking the progression.
