Researchers often say that genetics load the ‘gun’ of eating disorders, and environment ‘pulls the trigger.’ The stories of anorexia and bulimia I’ve heard, however, convince me that this metaphor needs a little tweaking. It seems to me that genetics make the gun, and cultural and familial environment loads it, but it takes the experience of unbearable emotion to pull the trigger.

When we’re incomplete, we’re always searching for somebody to complete us. When, after a few years or a few months of a relationship, we find that we’re still unfulfilled, we blame our partners and take up with somebody more promising. This can go on and on—series polygamy—until we admit that while a partner can add sweet dimensions to our lives, we, each of us, are responsible for our own fulfillment. Nobody else can provide it for us, and to believe otherwise is to delude ourselves dangerously and to program for eventual failure every relationship we enter.

Anorexia didn’t make you happy. It made you numb. There is a difference.

Let’s get something straight: Nobody admires you for being anorexic, That’s just the voice in your head. They will not applaud you, Or think of you as ‘controlled’, or ‘tragically beautiful’. They will not envy you, They do not see your slow suicide As admirable. Anorexia does not make you special, Different or unique. Your laughter, your passions, Your smile, are why people love you. They do not love anorexia, They love you, and though the voice says Without it you are nothing. I promise, without anorexia You are everything. Recovery is a choice, And it means you have to fight. Eat, even when anorexia is screaming At you to stop. Recovery is learning, That you are admirable without being thin, That you are interesting without anorexia, That you are worth more than a life With a demon in your head, who Wants to kill you. You are perfect, and you do not Need this disease, to make you Feel worthy of life. Please, do not Put your trust in Anorexia Nervosa, You are worth So much more.

I only have 4 moods:

I empathize with the above, but I have an additional 4 moods to add:

and don’t forget the inevitable 

and for those who have just given up

When I was five, my mom lost me in a park. I don’t remember much, except that one minute I was riding a carousel and the next she was gone. I don’t remember how I found her. I don’t remember how I got home. All I remember is what happened next. She told me not to worry. She told me everything would be fine. She told me it was time to play the quiet game so I knew I wasn’t supposed to ask any questions. Or else, I might have told her I forgot my doll. I loved that doll so much. It killed me to leave it behind. Funny isn’t it? The way memory works? The things you can’t quite remember and the things you can never forget. … There can be beauty in getting lost. Sometimes we have to get lost to find each other and sometimes we find each other, only to get lost all over again. We can’t always control it, the thing that’s going to set you adrift. And as you stand there on your front porch staring at the life you are about to leave behind, you have to accept it’s gone, it’s lost. Just like you. All you can do now is stand very still, breathe in the moment and try to be open to wherever the wind’s going to take you next.

Far too often we value a body more than a soul.