21 October 2010
Too much strain. Too many failures. Never better. Never good enough. I can’t handle it anymore.
I love you,
I had tried. God knows I had tried, but I couldn’t seem to recover from anorexia no matter what I did. I just couldn’t seem to find the strength to get better and really live.
So I decided to kill myself. I climbed up on a chair, wrapped my favorite red scarf around my neck several times, and then tied it to the chandelier in my dining room. I made sure it was tight. All I had to do was kick the chair away from me.
I couldn’t do it.
* The cause of death might be ruled as accidental when it was suicide.
* Cases of anorexia nervosa are underreported, particularly in males.
* Cases of suicide often are not reported, or covered up.
But I’m not going to talk about statistics. Instead, I would like to share the pain caused by anorexia. This pain is often so horrific that suicide might be seen as the only way to alleviate it.
For me, anorexia was both a coping mechanism and a death wish. I wanted the pain to stop. I wanted to die. I would pray every night that I would die in my sleep, and then be angry in the morning that I hadn’t died that night.
Please God, please kill me. It all is too much. Trying to eat. Trying to recover. Trying to be a wife.
I am a failure.
David [my husband] left me in September. Now we are trying to reconcile, but I constantly feel on edge.
Somehow, I knew David would leave again, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.
A dozen scenarios of my death played themselves in my head. My heart could stop. I could have a seizure. Or I could simply waste away from malnutrition.
But death wouldn’t come.
I would read about someone dying from anorexia, and deep within the recesses of my mind would be a spark of envy that I had somehow been cheated out of death.
Why me? Why was I still alive when I wanted to die, when clearly so many other people wanted to live? Why couldn’t I just swap my life for theirs, so they so surely deserved to live much more than I did?
Then a friend of mine died of complications from anorexia. I was stunned. I was hurt. I envied her; I wanted it to be me.
How did all these thoughts dissipate? It may sound cliche, but first I had to eat and reach a healthy weight before any of the suicidal thoughts and anxiety went away.
Why did I decide not to kill myself years ago? I could hear the voice of my eating disorders psychiatrist, telling me I could make it, that I would make it, and recover.
Now I’m determined to live.