They don’t see when you’re really struggling to even get out of bed in the morning, not just because you are too weak from not eating, but because you are dreading your entire day and are unable to handle the thought of food let alone associating with people.
They don’t see the wedge that’s placed between you and your family, significant other and friends, whether it’s because you are now isolating yourself or because your loved ones refuse to watch you destroy yourself.
They don’t see how you’re too weak to leave the house because even standing makes you want to collapse.
They don’t see the constant obsession and anxiety within your brain on persistent basis – worrying about this, that, and everything, from whether or not you look fat to how many calories are in your cup of tea to whether or not people can hear your stomach growling or whether or not you’re doing this right or that wrong or upsetting this person or that person or whether you’ll collapse today.
They don’t see the constant guilt you have because you have to mask your illness from everybody, even from those who already know.
They don’t see the effort it takes to engage in your behaviours: weigh at this time, with this scale, on this floor, with no clothes; eat this food at this temperature, with these measurements, with these 0 calorie condiments.
They don’t see the total and utter feeling of hopelessness and despair because even though having an eating disorder ruins most things, it feels like not having a disorder would ruin all things.
They also don’t see us – people who actually want to work, get the job done and pretend like everything is okay, all whilst going the entire day eating less than what everyone else had for breakfast or spending an entire day off from work in and out of the staff bathroom after having taken laxatives while others are relaxing or getting on and off and on and off the scale in the morning when other people are out ordering pizza.