It has taken me some time to write you again. I have an idea, a feeling, something I would like to share, an insight of how to change something for the better, to help people, and yet it gets trapped somehow and I keep it to myself. Maybe there is a story I would like to tell, show you how I like doing something, make it beautiful. Or just something for myself, that I feel isolated with, the only one in the world, and I’m longing to not be alone with it.

I have been afraid that sharing my ideas would make you mistrust me, as if the experiences they came from would disqualify rather than enrich them. At the same time, I hope you will like learning about my experiences. Even if sad sometimes, they have brought me wisdom and love. 

I remember being very young, perceiving and enjoying the world as I do now. I have stayed the same. And yet, now, it is as if I am more aware of how special some things are, how treasurable. I understand more about the world, why things sometimes do not work out, result people, including myself, to choose pain. As a child I did not understand why there were wars in the world, I believe I do now. I have fought my own wars, with myself, the people around. Futile, and yet, inevitable because I am only human. 

It has not made me more disappointed in the world. Instead, it has made me appreciate all the good things more, because I believe I appreciate more what it takes, for someone to give something generously, for someone to help me generously, without expectations, for someone to see me for who I am. As if, when I was young, I knew how to enjoy a cake, even better than I do now I believe. But now, I know what goes in to it, and also, how to bake one myself.

And so, I would like to tell you the story of how I started hiding. In the hope that somehow my experiences will interest you, will make you feel more loved and accepted somehow. In any case, I do it for myself. I long to meet people, to connect to you, and in that sense, I want to stop hiding myself, covering myself up and all the good that I could bring to myself and the world alike. I hope to have the honour to bring something good to you. More of it.

During my life, I have used fasting as a way to survive, to keep myself whole and “together” in circumstances that were very difficult for me. Clinically, I was diagnosed with anorexia nervosa, which literally means, “without appetite for nervous reasons”, some kind of medical mesh-up of Greek and Latin. And this is what it was, I could not connect to my appetite, because it would have flooded my nervous system. I would not have been able to pump energy round without it hurting me, without it amplifying pain, punishment, self-disgust and activities I did not want to do. I was not able to pump round money in a way to invest in myself and in my future. I was not able to pump round my lust for life without hurting myself sexually. In a similar way, I restricted my food intake, dampening my feelings and sexuality as well as the expectations other people made on me.

The “appetite” in anorexia is, in its medical definition, only connected to food, but I believe the Greeks are very right to use the word órexi, that is appetite, for life as well. I was not just fasting food wise, also financially, sexually, socially. In other words, I was refraining from life itself, because I could not deal with it the way it was for me at the time. My appetite though, was never really absent, just repressed. Feeling it would have been too aggressive for me, too overwhelming, too happy and sad at the same time, had I connected to it.

Unfortunately, and this is how we started, this has mostly not been very beneficial to show. People close, society at large, and especially Dutch mental health care had strong prejudices about me and someone fasting to the extremes of where it seemed so obviously harmful from an outsider’s perspective. 

Therapies and therapists pushed me further down into victimhood, increasing feelings of shame, disgust and worthlessness, by diagnosing me, labelling things as disordered, sometimes even relating it to some supposedly permanent personality defects, without considering my personal history, my family background and home situation, my needs and dreams. Treatment, instead, included reward and punishment, force feeding beyond medical needs, surveillance, and restriction of freedom. 

Some therapists were kind, showed some genuine interest, appreciation and concern, tried to make some kind amendments to harsh judgements of the other therapists and psychiatrist in charge. With some I had a bit of fun, watching Gilmore Girls or playing tag where we were not allowed to run. Others seemed vicious, as if they enjoyed putting a whole load of jam on my sandwich, pointing out to me that the rule was to eat it in eight bites, as that was considered “normal” and “healthy”. 

At one point, I collected my fellow patients to address some issues we had with one of the nurses taking care of day-to-day life in the group. I wrote a letter to the head staff of the clinic and let everybody sign. In the aftermath, it turned out we had brought out an issue that had been going on for a long time among the team of nurses. The nurse in question was suspended for some time, then officially left. She was the only one kind and courageous enough to come and apologise to us. It was a shame she left. I would have liked her to have returned, to have had this sincerity around in a place where everything felt so fake and judgemental. I remember she brought me comedy dvds from home because she knew I liked it.

And so, in my experience, asking for help, then being diagnosed with anorexia nervosa, has not helped me, but harmed me instead. Unfortunately, it was not just used as a description of my symptoms, my state of fasting, in order to help me find some temporary relief from which I could start building my own path and learn to know and rely on myself. Instead, I felt judged, and put down. The diagnosis became prescriptive, a justification to treat me as a liar, delusional, and self-destructive. It was used to disqualify my wishes and opinions as part of my disorder and therefore invalid, dangerous even to listen to. I felt considered both pathetic and annoying, my behaviour being described as “cute”, “unable to feel truly” and my disorder as “having no cause”. 

My suffering was explained to my parents (not to me, even though a young woman of 17 at the time) as an evil “Ms Anorexia” on my shoulder, whispering her destructive orders in to my ear. I later realised how well this view matched the therapy of punishment and reward in to normality, as if it was an exorcism of the devil of anorexia that was occupying a cute little girl.

But I have never been a victim of anorexia nervosa, of some kind of evil spirit. That devil was me. It was me being fed up, literally. Being angry, afraid, feeling trapped, unseen in my needs for space and safety. My longing to be loved and accepted, while at the same time growing in to an independent woman. To be accepted with my own personal wishes and opinions, my own mistakes. And to be appreciated for it, being my own individual self. Simply, to be allowed to say “no”.

The years after, I have struggled to change the course of my life from this history, as I had adopted many of the beliefs about me. Bit by bit, I have learned to find people to trust, to love, to be loved. Bit by bit, I am learning to let go of my self-disgust, of feeling different and unfit for life. This has come with many mistakes, missed opportunities and continuing patterns that I tried so hard to heal. I have grieved a lot to be able to accept my life as it has been, to even appreciate it, as it has contributed to who I am. I am learning to be grateful for its blessings, as I have been and am blessed with many beautiful people and experiences. They have nourished me and made me stronger, filled me with love and beauty.

Today, I still behave in unexpected ways sometimes. Some months ago, I broke down in tears in a supermarket, unable to make a decision about the groceries I was going to buy. Judging myself for doing the wrong thing, whatever thing I would do. And these days as well, I often end up rambling on in shops about nothings, to feel safe with what I buy, to somehow feel cared for by someone, to cover up my grief. There are days, when I have grown too tired of caring for myself, for the sadness I feel, all the anger and fear that I have dealt with on my own. I am even tired of standing up for what I want and long for, of bringing good things to myself. Though, at the same time, I start to believe that having these moments from time to time is a very human experience.

I believe my trauma is not necessarily in what happened to me, as it has long gone. It is in the shame I feel, the disconnect, from myself, from people around. From feeling the only one in my reality, the way I perceive my life, of what happened to me only existing to me. Or rather, not even existing to me as long as I am unable to see it and carry it. I keep up the trauma by not recognising myself, afraid of my memories, how intense they were for me, but also afraid they will somehow show me the “others” were right about me after all. That I am indeed a weak cute little girl perverted by the devil, instead of an independent woman, her own authority, with feelings of love, lust, anger and kindness, afraid like everyone else, courageous like everyone else.

I could tell you many more stories, good and bad. They are already part of my cooking, of my photos, of how I try to approach people. I would love to make some videos for you, engage with you more actively, be more physically present and I would be very happy to learn what you would like to see more of. Would you like to hear about films, songs and art that I love and why I love them? Would you like me to show you some family recipes, tell you about the people they came from?

I would be very happy to hear from you. To learn how I can bring you the best of me. It would be an honour.

Thank you very much for being here, reading with me. I send you all my best wishes. Take care and I look forward to seeing you again soon.