Tavas-Greenleaf

“(...) in eating disorder recovery, you’re literally trying to recover a whole person, the one who was there before the eating disorder, the one you didn’t like and tried to bury, the one who fades into the background and who people stop seeing the more the anorexia intensifies. You’re trying to recover this person to the surface, this person who is slipping down and down into ever darker depths, further and further away from the sun. The deeper she slips, the harder the battle will be to recover her. But to recover that person, you have to have a very good reason to pull her back to the surface, because the battle is brutal, and you get so tired of fighting. It is sometimes just easier to give up and let her sink.”
― Evanna Lynch, The Opposite of Butterfly Hunting: The Tragedy and The Glory of Growing Up

“One of the unlikely gifts of having an eating disorder is that nobody will ever be as mean as your disorder was. There is a profound sense of safety in being your own biggest bully, your own cruellest aggressor, which is why eating disorders are so addictive and so hard to let go of. There is something so comfortable and reassuring in getting to the edges of your darkest thought, in following it all the way to its fullest expression and burying yourself beneath it, where nobody can hurl it in your unsuspecting face.”
― Evanna Lynch, The Opposite of Butterfly Hunting: The Tragedy and The Glory of Growing Up

“I don’t think it’s fair to say that people who died of anorexia didn’t fight their illness. I think they fought it for as long as they possibly could. There is something heroic about people who manage to get up every day and somehow stay alive with their most vicious, hateful bully living within them. I don’t think it’s fair to judge them or term their entire journey a defeat. But I don’t think they took the right path. I think they took the path of numbness, certainty and safety, and I think it was the safe choice that cost them their life. I think the safe path always leads to a dead end.”
― Evanna Lynch, The Opposite of Butterfly Hunting: The Tragedy and The Glory of Growing Up

“But creativity, she doesn’t fit in a box. She’s a wild, fluid, uncontrollable energy that spreads out sensuously from a curious, wide open mind in large expanses of aimless time on dreamy liminal train journeys or in subtle moments between waking and sleep. She can’t be pushed, or coughed up, or beaten into submission by a brutal and unmerciful regime. She needs light, and breath, and space and then, maybe, if the mood takes her, she’ll unfurl her wings and let her colors run into the atmosphere. And this energy, this wild, fun, unpredictable magic that I’d played with so happily as a child, that had flowed through me like it was my very life force up until this point; I didn’t understand it anymore.
Creativity was this swirling wild mysterious language, but now I lived in a colorless angular world that promised me a certainty I valued above all else. And where before, I was just scribbling, writing, moving for the mere joy of it, now I tried to commodify my creativity. I tried to squeeze it out and make it do something worthwhile, be special, be important, be good. I could no longer see the point of art if it wasn’t good.
But that’s the tricky thing about art, it’s never strictly good or bad, it’s just expression, or excretion. It couldn’t be measure by scales or charts, or contained in small manageable segments in the day. It was always, by its very nature, so imperfect. And the imperfections drove me mad. The anxiety and frustration with my creative endeavors turned into an actual fear of blank pages and pallets of paint. There was too much potential and too much room to fail so day by day, I chose perfection over creativity. I chose no more creativity, and no more mistakes.
There are things that eating disorders takes from you that are more important, much greater and more profound a loss, and much much more difficult to recover and restore completely than body fat. And that reckless urge to create, just for the pure, senseless joy of it, would become the one I missed the most.”
― Evanna Lynch, The Opposite of Butterfly Hunting: The Tragedy and The Glory of Growing Up