Reacting to a girl dying of anorexia.
- Luka

- Apr 15
- 5 min read
How do people react when things get this bad? Badly, desperately, and harrowingly.
Mum
I began to see my mum break. I'd never seen her break this way before. And it started to break me, to see the eyes I once found full of life to be drained, tired, and scared. Her eyes were permanently stained with tears, filling with bubbles every time she had to look at either me in my dire physical state or the pathetic meal that stood before her. I began to see what it looked like to slowly kill my mother, alongside myself. And if I didn't have the strength to fight for myself, I mustered the strength to fight for her. And though she still cries, the tears she cries are ones of relief and joy. Dying before the person who gave life to you is a different kind of pain for both involved.
Bapa
When I was a child, I couldn't say 'grandpa', so I started a trend among all my grandpa's grandchildren, who now call him 'bapa' as I do. My bapa was my everything as a little girl; we rode bikes together, I pulled him along in my float-up boat, I dressed up in pink wigs with him, and drank his freshly squeezed orange juice every morning. And over the years, anorexia has made us lose that incredibly special and unique connection with its triggers, its isolation and its deception. The first time he saw me since I became unwell, he said to me, 'I could cry at how much weight you've lost,' and that hurt me because I knew it hurt him to look at me when it was once something he cherished, loved, and adored. No matter what anorexia has taken from us, I know that I am strong enough to patch up the pieces because that is how strong my love for him is. Since we started filling out my end-of-life forms, I prepared a lot of people for the chance that they'd be saying 'goodbye' to me forever. He was one of those close people I informed. He wrote me a long letter, and I could hear the fear in his every word... the fear that this was it, and that I wasn't going to be around anymore. His response was one of heartbreak, but his belief in me never faltered, not for a moment, and to be believed in that way is something truly beautiful. Yesterday, I sent him a photo of me drinking orange juice for the first time since he last made me a glass, and his joy, to me, was worth every single sip of fear.
Izzie & Sammy
I am lucky enough to have many true, real, good friends. And one of my friends, Izzie, has been spending some time living with us. So she was here the day my family and I were told I was going to die. And after it sunk in with her, she was devastated and, most of all, afraid. She told me that every time she was downstairs and heard the upstairs chairs in our dining room move in and out, she prepared herself for that sound, being me, dropping dead. How could she live with us constantly being tormented? How could she live with herself if she didn't say anything? She couldn't. And so she did. Barely able to get the words out, debilitated by the harrowingness of the situation and tormented by my barely, barely there existence. My beautiful girl, my beautiful friend, my beautiful Izzie, broke by the seams.
When Sammy read my blog post 'The Heartbreaking End...', he texted me immediately, but not just me, sweetly - additionally, my mumma. He explained how he couldn't imagine what my parents were going through, nor I and without any judgement or expectation, he supported us with his unwavering kindness and gentleness. His approach, though more passive than Izzie's, was one of utter adoration and mostly concern. He wouldn't know what he'd do without me, and he knows that I don't know what I'd do without him.
He is always, always there, not just by my side but on my side.
Dad
My dad is my best friend. We have an irreplaceable bond; one of love, admiration and similarity. We both have gentle souls and brave exterior fronts. My dad inspires me in many ways, but I believe, over the years, with everything I've been through, I inspire him, too. My dad and I have done everything together since I was 10 years old, and he came into my life. Before mum and dad got married, we even said that if anything were ever to happen to their relationship, we would still have each other. We’ve had 13 years of an inseparable relationship. He has done everything humanly possible to usher me through my pain of having anorexia, by my side, in my heart, sending me photos of flowers, watching reruns in a hospital bed, and listening to motivational podcasts and our favourite songs on high rotation. I love my dad. And whilst it pains me to say this, I know he loves me more. I'm his little girl, the one he never had of his own, the one he's always protected. But he couldn't protect me from anorexia, and I think that kills him a little bit more every day. He feels it was his duty to keep me from the big, scary, unbearable things in life, and here, anorexia has been abusing me, belittling me, hating me, and he's had to sit by and watch it pretty much the whole time he's known me. So to reach the end is for him to know he couldn't save me. And if the end comes, he will live with that guilt and suffering for the rest of his life. And when the end faced him, the guilt and suffering began to consume him - I could see it.
I remembered what a police officer told me on my first suicide attempt - if you go, all of the blackness and darkness you're experiencing won't end with you; it will transfer into the hearts and minds of your parents, who love you unconditionally, who you left behind...
I've known for a long time that I'm killing myself slowly, so I think that hearing I will die wasn't as great a shock for me as perhaps it would be to others. This is why it took a long time for me to understand the severity of my situation, but I'm so glad I did. Because dying in front of his eyes was breaking him, and even though my mind disagrees, my eating disorder is breaking me, too.
My family and friends are everything to me. And when you have a love like that, it seeps into everything you do, believe, and think. And thankfully, their love is stronger than anorexia, allowing me to fight, to challenge, and mostly, to live.
Kisses,
COS x
















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