Almost two decades earlier, near the end of my eating disorder, a psychiatrist told me I’d have to figure out what my anorexia did for me, before I’d be able to get rid of it. Whatever it did for me, I would need to figure out another way to do that for myself. These instructions were more useful than most of the wisdom people offered about self-destructive behavior. This shrink understood that my disease was also an attempt to make something happen.
