We think of bulimia and anorexia as either a bizarre psychosis, or as a quirky little habit, a phase, or as a thing that women just do. We forget that it is a violent act, that it bespeaks a profound level of anger toward and fear of the self.
Interpretation
The quote highlights the serious nature of eating disorders, emphasizing the underlying emotional turmoil rather than viewing them as trivial issues.
Marya Hornbacher's quote sheds light on the often-misunderstood reality of eating disorders like bulimia and anorexia. It challenges common perceptions that these conditions are mere quirks or phases, illustrating instead that they stem from deep-rooted anger and fear toward oneself. By framing these behaviors as violent acts, Hornbacher urges us to recognize the severity and complexity of these psychological struggles, advocating for a compassionate understanding of those who suffer from them.
In practice
In a mental health awareness workshop, this quote could be used to initiate a discussion about the emotional roots of eating disorders.
I threw up again that night, half-afraid that my eyeballs would explode. But it was, by far, more important that I get rid of dinner. Of course, by then, throwing up was the only way I knew how to deal with fear. That paradox would begin to run my life: to know that what you are doing is hurting you, maybe killing you, and to be afraid of that fact--but to cling to the idea that this will save you, it will, in the end, make things okay.
Soon madness has worn you down. It’s easier to do what it says than argue. In this way, it takes over your mind. You no longer know where it ends and you begin. You believe anything it says. You do what it tells you, no matter how extreme or absurd. If it says you’re worthless, you agree. You plead for it to stop. You promise to behave. You are on your knees before it, and it laughs.
There is never a sudden revelation, a complete and tidy explanation for why it happened, or why it ends, or why or who you are. You want one and I want one, but there isn't one. It comes in bits and pieces, and you stitch them together wherever they fit, and when you are done you hold yourself up, and still there are holes and you are a rag doll, invented, imperfect. And yet you are all that you have, so you must be enough. There is no other way.
Hospitalizations in general are blurry. The days are the same, precisely the same. Nothing changes. Life melts down to a simple progression of meals. They become a way of life fairly quickly. You may welcome this transition. It may seem inevitable to you. You have been removed from the world. It is all right, in a way, because there is nothing so sure, so safe, as routine.
For a long time I believed the opposite of passion was death. I was wrong. Passion and death are implicit, one in the other. Past the border of a fiery life lies the netherworld. I can trace this road, which took me through places so hot the very air burned the lungs. I did not turn back. I pressed on, and eventually passed over the border, beyond which lies a place that is wordless and cold, so cold that it, like mercury, burns a freezing blue flame.
I know how this feels: the tightening of the chest, the panic, the what-have-I-done-wait-I-was-kidding. Eating disorders linger so long undetected, eroding the body in silence, and then they strike. The secret is out. You're dying.
When we see life, we call it beautiful. When we see death, we call it ugly. But it is more beautiful still to see oneself living at great speed, right up to the moment of death.
Life is a journey, but don't worry, you'll find a parking spot at the end.
Nothing is here to stay_x000D_ _x000D_ Everything has to begin and end_x000D_ _x000D_ A ship in a bottle won't sail_x000D_ _x000D_ All we can do is dream that the wind will blow us across the water_x000D_ _x000D_ A ship in a bottle set sail
At my age, and in my circumstances, what sinister object, or personal emolument had I to seek after, in this life? The growing infirmities of age and the increasing love of retirement, daily confirm my decided predilection for domestic life: and the great Searcher of human hearts is my witness, that I have no wish, which aspires beyond the humble and happy lot of living and dying a private citizen on my own farm.
So all in all there wasn't anything really wrong with my life. Except that, like most everyone else's I knew about, it had a big gaping hole in it, an enormous emptiness, and I didn't know how to fill it or even know what belonged there.
Days, when the ball of our vision_x000D_ _x000D_ Had eagles that flew unabashed to sun;_x000D_ _x000D_ When the graps on the bow was decision,_x000D_ _x000D_ And arrow and hand and eye were one;_x000D_ _x000D_ When the Pleasures, like waves to a swimmer,_x000D_ _x000D_ Came heaving for rapture ahead! -_x000D_ _x000D_ Invoke them, they dwindle, they glimmer_x000D_ _x000D_ As lights over mounds of the dead.
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