There's an article doing the rounds, you've maybe seen it; the title is '5 Reasons To Date A Girl With An Eating Disorder'. A friend from home posted a link to it on her Facebook and after seeing the title, my plan was to read it and then write a revised edition here. That was the plan, heh. What actually happened was I opened the article and was instantly so belittled, so vicious was the attack, that I ended up passed out over my toilet, fingers down throat, and then restrained down the corridor to the- often apparently ironically titled- quiet room of the hospital ward.
I'd like to be able to write a witty yet informative rebuttal, but it's hit me in a way I didn't expect. The internet is full of attention seeking kids, who will write something deliberately to ruffle feathers and garner page views. Generally, little on the internet affects me, because I know that there are people whose whole bloody life is about trying to insult me and I really can't be arsed. Going viral seems to be a pretty pathetic life goal, and that's why I've not linked here to the original article. I also have a bit of a snobby thing about insults- it's not enough to insult me to get a reaction, if you want to do it properly you've got to put some mental ooooompth into it, really go all out. Not much out there is good enough to really get to my bones, but, annoyingly, the writer of 5 Reasons seems to have more than a couple of brain cells.
That's what makes it so vicious, I think, the fact that somebody has written this article with intelligence. It's supposed to be funny, but I'd like you to tell that to my ex-boyfriend. Have a laugh with his about the times he watched the police drag me about because my mental health had deteriorated so much. Ask him about seeing me with a tube up my nose, being force fed. A pint and a giggle about my overdoses. It's supposed to be funny, and sometimes the only way to deal with a situation is through laughter, but I don't think slow suicide is really one of those situations. Especially when you take into account the three girls I met on eating disorder units who died over the last few years, due to their Anorexia. Hilarious.
I'm not precious, I'm really not, and being precious seems to really be what the writer has an issue with. What I wrote earlier about my reaction to the article wasn't me acting on my 'white girl problem', it was me being cut open and having vinegar poured in, then reacting in my most primal way. And as white as my skin is, my eating disorder is a result of a lot of fucked up events, over a fair few years. It's not a 'white girl problem', it's what sometimes feels like the sane reaction to an insane set of circumstances, a consequence of a messed up society. If poverty, sexual abuse and domestic abuse aren't problems that affect white girls, you'll have to colour my skin purple.
I hope you never know the grim realities of this disease. Even you.