The anorexic bubble
It’s safe. It’s sanitised. It sucks.
Aberystwyth, 2014
I missed the sun. I always do in the winter, just like I miss autumn leaves in summer, and the sea in landlocked cities, and the grass, which is greener in my mind than it is anywhere else.
I missed the sun, but it was right there, streaming through my attic room window, beckoning me outside. I used to think depression could be likened to miserable weather, rain on one’s parade. Not always. It can also be sunshine and fresh air and flowers. It can be something you once loved that you no longer enjoy.
Depression contradicts anorexia in a lot of ways. It strips you of motivation. There are sedentary, bedridden days and carbohydrate cravings. Anorexia won the tug of war one afternoon, prompting me to get up and burn some God damn calories. I was hopeless at cardio, but I made a habit of walking. Up the hill to campus, up and down the prom (don’t forget to kick the bar), out to Llanbadarn to stock up on safe foods from Morrisons.
I was ridiculously unambitious at this point. My main goal in life was to continuously lose weight, because it was something I knew I was capable of, even if it eventually killed me. There’s emotional safety in the most self-destructive acts, a sense of reward for passing the lowest bar. I could control my image better than I could control anything else in the world. I’d be small and thin and grungy and I’d blow bubble gum. I’d always wanted to know how to blow bubble gum. Much safer than swimming with dolphins or, you know, doing something productive with my life.
Off I went, walking in the sun with my old step counter. It was absolutely vital that I knew how many steps I’d walked to the sweet shop. (Answer: not many. Aberystwyth is small.)
The sweet shop did not sell sugar free bubble gum.
I repeat: there was NO SUGAR FREE BUBBLE GUM.
I trudged back home and got back into bed, my bubble well and truly burst.
On my twenty-second birthday, I woke up to four students whooping as they ran down the road outside my house. They were all stark naked. I’m not sure why they were naked, but I’d imagine it involved alcohol. It was six in the morning, and we all know drinking until daylight ends badly.
I found myself wondering what it would be like to have that much confidence. Okay, so they’d be nursing hangovers in a police car before too long. But just imagine that. Every lump and bump on show. Every scar. Everything.
I went downstairs and made a pot of coffee. Booted up my laptop, logged into Tumblr, and looked at photos of food until M and J woke up. The two of them were visiting for my birthday, and while I was delighted to have them stay, I was anxious about what they’d want me to eat.
M bought me croissants for breakfast. I thanked them and insisted I had a ripe banana to eat before it went off. I added an apple to the mix, totted up the calories, and was pleased to inform them that my breakfast came to what I thought was a very un-anorexic total.
‘Fruit doesn’t count,’ they said. ‘And besides, it’s your birthday.’
‘The croissants will keep.’
‘You can’t just eat fruit.’
I could and I did.
We attempted to bake a cake. I dropped the bowl, I swear by accident. As we scrubbed raw cake mix from off the floor, I revelled in the knowledge that I hadn’t wasted calories on this. I hadn’t even licked the spoon.
And then they suggested trying again.
I ate a slice of the success cake, because I didn’t want to upset my friends. Then they took me out for a meal, which was crazy to my mind. We’d just eaten cake. What more did they want from me?
I’ve always looked forward to celebratory meals. The variety of menu options, the luxury of being waited on, and cold, fizzy Coke, straight from the keg. I suppose there was part of me — my survival instinct, essentially — that eagerly awaited a plate of pub chips, despite also dreading it.
What makes anorexia so sad isn’t just the deprivation of food; it’s the deprivation of social enjoyment, of revelry. Food is a staple of special occasions. It’s near impossible to celebrate without the presence of something edible, and try as you might, you can’t ignore that desperate inner voice begging for sustenance. You are so close. You can smell the food. You want it. And yet you exist in an invisible bubble, cut off from normality, telling your friends you’re just not hungry while your stomach growls, begging to differ.
But to keep the peace and pretend I was normal, I went for dinner with M and J. It was a shambles, as you might expect, with M relaying that I ate only salad and the smallest chips. It’s certainly easier to dodge food on someone else’s birthday, but on yours? I slunk off the toilets when a plate of tiramisu was placed in front of me. Perhaps if I stayed in the cubicle for long enough someone else would eat it, and they’d forget all about me and leave me in peace.
On the contrary, my absence was glaringly obvious. Within minutes, they were texting me: Are you okay? I know this is hard for you. You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to.
But I do want to, I replied. That’s the problem.
The bubble is see-through. It becomes so painfully obvious to everyone around you, and they don’t understand how this flimsy liquid sphere can have so much control over you. Why not just pop the bubble? Why not eat? But it’s this fragility, the ease with which your resolve could shatter, that makes it so difficult to give up. You don’t understand it either, but you cling to the contradictions: weakness as strength, restriction as freedom. You enjoy the feeling of floating, until you have floated so far that gravity seems to pose a threat.
If you need help
Always seek medical advice in an emergency. In the UK, you can call NHS 111 option 2 for mental health support. Find a list of helplines around the world here.
Tricia, this post is... sitting with me. And I love the bubble image. It is so accurate. Cut off from normality, everyone can see you but no one can reach you. And the contradiction of wanting the food and being terrified of it at once. Thank you for writing this. This will help many women who struggle with this ♥️