What if I had cancer?
What if I had suffered from several strokes?
Suppose I was unable to walk because of MS?
Or my hands were so twisted from RA?
Would you then encourage my husband to leave me because I'm sick? That he should abandon me when I need him most? That my rock and anchor should just throw fourteen years of marriage because you said so???
I'm glad you listen to him and allow him to vent and I understand you think dealing with a wife with anorexia is so hard for him.
But did you ever ask how I felt? Were you even concerned that I almost died this past winter, that I am still struggling? Did you ever call me to see how I was doing, or is gossiping like two old women all you are capable of? Are your relationships so dry, so empty (I know at least two of you are in very empty relationships; ones on their deathbeds, as a matter of fact) that you have to interfere with mine? At least next time have the guts to say what you think to me. After all, I don't even weigh 100 pounds; I surely can't hurt you.
Being betrayed by several people close to me won't heal. I must pretend to my husband I am fine. After all, he was very reluctant to tell me that several people have said to him they wouldn't stay with me. I should bury my feelings. I asked and I received, and I wasn't happy with what was there.
A world of disposable vows. Forever means nothing. "Love is patient, love is kind" and all that crap. I am such a dreamer; an idiot to believe love can conquer all.
When do I get to be free of anorexia? When I die? If I recover? Never? And what about my heart, which feels shattered right now . . .
Funny thing is, each one of you call yourself a Christian in some way. But I suppose you would have left the beaten man by the side of the road; after all, you are a Samaritan and he is a Jew and why would you help someone so different from yourself?
Did you know that anorexia nervosa has a 25 percent death rate? The highest rate of any mental illness, and higher than many physical illnesses? Do you know how hard it is to kick? Do you have any idea what it's like to live steeped in anxiety, trying to crawl your way back once more toward recovery? The last thing I need is a Judas or two in my midst.
But you go ahead and smoke your cigarettes and drink your twelve-pack and pontificate about how I can't seem to get rid of anorexia and why would anyone stay with me. But maybe I wonder the same thing about you . . .