Essay on The Problem Of Eating Disorder
Nurses’ puzzle, bemused. Therapists probe. Parents blame themselves. Friends step backwards. Meanwhile, the finicky one with the eating disorder, involve themselves in a complex, irrational, exhausting, lonely and enduring contest of who will win: the person who requires nutrition and subsistence, or the person who will not falter from their will?
Sitting in the out-patient session I attend at the clinic, I was half listening to Abigail. Abigail was a member of the contest. Speaking out from beneath a sky blue jumper, exemplifying her shrunken head, I was contemplating the advantages of anorexia. However, it was when Abigail piped, “Three days” my attention re-ignited. “So, you only feel comfortable with eating a meal every three days, am I right Abigail?” replied the psychologist. Jackie, the psychologist was heading the group, though where she led it may not have been the direction I took because at that comment I had returned to my internal debate to left the others to continue theirs.
Three days. The miracle of three days. In three days you could immerse yourself in seven million tulips in Amsterdam or indulge in tranquillity at a weekend spa. Phone your friends, prepare a picnic and go camping or perhaps die, resurrect and be like Jesus or you could be like Abigail instead, and for three…