This has been a particularly hard couple of weeks as I guess I should
expect. Last Friday was Will's funeral and I could not be there as I
wanted to be. I considered how I could make it happen but my daughter's
birthday was the next day and it would have just been logistically too
difficult. I also didn't want to intrude on Will's family. This has to
be devastating for them and I wanted to give them some space. During
his service, I wrote to Will. I told him I was thinking a bout him and
his family. I'm pretty sure he would have understood my not being
there. I was with him in spirit all that day though. I could not stop
thinking about my friend.
With Will's passing, I have had re-open
some issues and revisit some painful memories. Not all have been bad
though. Death has thankfully been a rare occurrence in my life. But
that also means I forget how it feels, how it hurts and how I am
supposed to grieve. This has also been the first death in my life that
has been someone so young. I've had grandparents die and co-workers and
acquaintances. Each loss has been painful in its own unique way. The
fact that Will died from his eating disorder, which was treatable, and
the fact that Will was so very young, has been a new type of loss that I
have not experienced before. It has brought up a lot of feelings:
Deep sadness, intense anger, irritability, guilt, and moments of
refection and happiness in remembering him. I had forgotten some of
Will's antics and it was so wonderful to be reminded by others who knew
him. His Bon Qui Qui imitation could not be matched. And it repeatedly
brings a smile to my face to think of him shouting "BOOM! YA DONE!"
Remembering him dancing in an open field with a toilet brings me to
laughter. What a character he was. He truly was a piece of me that I
will hold on to forever.
In the last week I have talked to many
people I have lost contact with from Denver. It has been comforting and
healing. The community immediately came together to support each other
in the ways we were able. Texts, e-mails, gatherings and Skype
sessions served as a reminder that we were not alone in our loss and
sadness. I took the day off last Monday to process, think and grieve. I
went to my favorite place to be alone; the cemetery. Yes, I know it's
weird. But I have always had a love of cemeteries. They are quiet,
beautiful, sad and full of life all at once. Being among the forgotten
names and wondering about the histories underneath brings me peace and
comfort. And, if I couldn't be with my friend Will, then I could be
with my friend Robin (whom I have never met but who has the most
beautiful headstone in the cemetery I visit). I wrote, I listened to
music, I walked, I lay in the grass, I prayed. I even sang. Some
people when they experience a loss say they feel "numb". I suppose I
did at some point. But in that cemetery on that beautiful day, I felt
more alive than I had in a while. I was reminded of how precious life
is. How very short it can be. I watched nature move on. The bees were
buzzing in the flowers next to me. Birds were chattering. I noticed
the smallest things around me like the tiny ants climbing the blades of
grass. The sun was blazing hot. The clouds seemed infinite and I felt
so small. Everything felt so real in that time I had alone. It was
lovely and sad all at the same time.
I
went back to work. Started moving back into my normal routine. Eating
the food that Will would have wanted me to eat. "Will would kick your
ass if you gave up," one friend reminded me. I got in to my dietician
appointment two weeks early. I cried and cursed in her office while she
sat calmly and looked on compassionately. I actually contacted my
therapist whom I haven't seen for six months. I took special care of
myself. Listened to what felt right in regards to grieving and
recovery. I did (and am still doing ) exactly what is right for me. I
cry at random moments, and I swear a lot. I still have anger with no
where to direct it. Last night on the drive home from Seattle, I got
ridiculously mad. Mad at the disease. Mad at how miserable people are
with it. Mad at how many lives are destroyed or wasted because of it.
Mad at the system for failing those who need help. I felt helpless and
small. Right now I have two mentees who are struggling and several
friends. What can I do? I can't do a damn thing! I was so
very angry. I eventually remembered; I can only take care of myself and
offer comfort to others. I can feed the fight against this illness. I
can speak out. Loudly if I must. I can be the truth behind the lies
that ED feeds its sufferers. It is not always the easy way, but still I
fight. Not only for myself but for my family, my friends and for those
who can no longer fight. The people who die because of their eating
disorders. My fighting is the only way I can shove back. I don't want
to be lonely, afraid, sick, tired, numb or empty. I want to be full of
life and sometimes that includes anger, sadness, pain and regret. I'll
take it. All of it.
Live on,
-Kristy
Friday, June 27, 2014
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
Losing Will to Anorexia...
William Arthur Brooksbank the IV was hysterical. So very witty. Always there with a warm, genuine smile and a lilting laugh. He was constantly saying funny, ridiculous things to make us all laugh especially there where we needed to laugh a little. He was deeply religious and faithful to his God, but he didn't push it on anyone else or try to convert anyone to his beliefs. He believed in God and Christ, passionately but it was his relationship, not a belief to be forced on anyone else. He would sing. He would dance. He would play with anything that was available to play with. A pencil could be made into a sword. A piece of paper into a cape. Sometimes after program a small group of us would bus it (because most of us had no other form of transportation) to either Target or the Mall, or a park. He would play and laugh and put on silly hats while in the stores. He'd use outlandish accents which he had perfected over the years. He would come in program in the morning, look me straight in the eye, touch my arm, and ask me how I was doing. He genuinely cared about others, their feelings, their struggles, their recovery. He was the light of the hospital. The beacon. The hope.
Underneath all of the playfulness though, occasionally, one could see something deeper. I remember him having trouble with the food. I remember him getting angry and frustrated. Of course we all did in treatment. It was as if there was a little boy in there. Confused, lost, afraid. He was so smart and quick and determined. And my heart aches for him now. Because dammit, anorexia won. An eating disorder actually beat someone, and this someone was special. I am so sad and angry, with no place to put my anger. Anorexia is not a person I can swear at or punch in the face. It doesn't have feelings that I can hurt by silent treatment or screaming. The only way I can show my hate for this disease is to continue to fight my own battle. To keep eating the fucking food. With each bite, I can have my say. And I can say it for Will.
For a while today I had "the thoughts". The "I miss being skinny" thoughts. How can I get it back just a little. All I want are thin arms, a thigh gap, I miss my bones. Oh my ribs, my long-lost shoulder bones...I recognized the thoughts and felt fear. It has been a long time since I've though deeply about my feelings about my disorder. I have been so busy with life and advocacy work. I suppose I have forgotten to take time out to get mad and sad and fearful. I guess I need to remember how truly terrible being trapped in the ED is. This is not a game as it has often felt to me. "I can play a little." No, this kills people. They are here and then they are gone. The family and friends are devastated and hurt. It's not romantic or beautiful. It's insidious and ugly and mean.
I have regrets. Will and I did not stay in contact over the last couple of years. Occasionally a Facebook "hi" or something. But we lived far apart and he had so many friends. And I was so far along in my own recovery. I can't help but think, what could I have done for him? What could I have said? I guess we all feel that way when someone passes away. What would I have done differently? What did I miss? Why didn't I call him? What the fuck just happened?
This is my first friend to die. The first person I have known personally to die from an eating disorder. Sure, I had head about it. I have seen the statistics and read the memorials. But this hits home. What's worse, is that I don't think it will be the last.
For Will Brooksbank, I eat the food. I fight the fight. And I win.
Live on,
-Kristy
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