I listen to the NPR radio program This American Life as often as I can, but not until
today did my fascination with the show’s wacky insightful way of observing the
world coincide with my fascination with eating disorders. Today, in pursuit of the spiritual “enlightenment”
that’s supposed to accompany fasting, contributor David Rakoff embarked on a
20-day guided fast to see if he could find nirvana through restriction.
I was particularly interested in this because, some years
ago, a member of my meditation group embarked on one of these Web-driven
fasts. She was talked into it by
friends, resisted in the first week, lauded it the second, and became visibly sickly
and defensive the third. When I told her
I was worried about her because the fast had made her gaunt and the hunger high
she was experiencing could be an invitation to anorexia, she looked at me with
an expression that can only be described as hatred. I recognized that
expression too well; she’d become both hostage and guardian of her brain’s
starvation.
So I was curious to hear what David Rakoff, a
self-acknowledged skeptic, had experienced on his journey to “purification,”
which, by the way, cost him $300. That
fee was paid to the Internet shyster who promised nirvana in exchange for
deprivation aided by enemas and “special” elixir recipes designed to “detoxify”
the body and restore “balance.” Rakoff’s
radio journal tracked what sounded to me like a 12-step program into an eating disorder.
1. Surrender
to the higher power of an online Oz who proclaims fasting to be the Ultimate Key
to Perfection.
2. Follow
in lockstep Oz’s rules and regulations for self-deprivation and abuse.
3. Defend
the ideal of restriction from all objective and rational detractors.
4. Utilize
guilt, shame, pride, and fear to override the physical, emotional, and
psychological weakness and pain caused by hunger.
5. Interpret
the lightheadedness and emptiness of prolonged hunger as “clarity” and “wellbeing.”
6. Embrace
the all-consuming self-absorption and self-involvement that results from
self-induced starvation as an earned privilege –even an attitude due to the superior “specialness” of those
who are able to persevere on a fast.
7. Enjoy
the illusion of separation and disengagement from anxiety as the body’s normal
reactivity to stress gradually fades away. Even if the slow reaction time does
put the body in some physical danger, the mind won’t notice.
8. Value
the “success” of staying on the fast above any other accomplishments that might
have been achieved with this same time, energy, and discipline – it’s not what
you actually do with your abilities that counts, it’s the fast-induced feeling that you could achieve anything.
9. Discount
or deny the abundant scientific evidence that the mental and spiritual “benefits”
of fasting are, in fact, caused by the brain’s forced metabolic shift from
carbohydrates to ketones as fuel – and that the “clarity” that follows initial
hunger pangs is, on an evolutionary basis, designed to enable the starving body
to survive until the food supply resumes, not
to voluntarily prolong starvation.
10. Seek
evidence of enlightenment in every waking moment, thought, perception, and
experience and, should anything beautiful or out of the ordinary occur, credit
it to the fast –never mind the possibility that this same level of focus
brought to a well-nourished body might actually produce equally or more rewarding
breakthroughs.
11. Reach
out to others who admire you for fasting, who will reinforce the belief that
depriving the body somehow elevates the soul and improves the spirit – and of
course, dismiss or avoid anyone who says you look like you have cancer.
12. Notice
how challenging it is to return to eating after a long fast, and marvel that
even a single apple can taste like a feast.
I have to note that Rakoff touched on these pointers without
necessarily submitting to them all himself.
But if he didn’t actually feel them, he noted that others seemed to or
that the message had gotten through to him that he was supposed to feel or abide by these rules – all of which, by the
way, I vividly recall pumping through my mind when I was in the throes of my
eating disorder.
Rakoff’s conclusion was that he “failed” at his fast because
he didn’t “feel” the spiritual ecstasy that he was “supposed” to. Based on my own research, I’d take this as
evidence that he didn’t have the genetic predisposition for an eating disorder,
and he should count himself lucky in that.
Also, it seems likely that the sources of anxiety in the rest of his
life were not existentially threatening; if they had been, he might have
embraced the disengagement (#7) he felt through his fast as a solution to his
problems. People who fall prey to eating
disorders tend to be drawn into ED’s self-absorbed cocoon as a sanctuary from overwhelming
distress that they feel powerless to confront.
My takeaway from Rakoff’s report is that fasting doesn’t cause eating disorders, but it does
invite them. All these online con
artists taking money to “help” you fast the “right” way are promising nothing
more than the human body’s natural response to deprivation. And just as some
people’s bodies respond addictively to a taste of alcohol or a single pill,
others are primed by experience and genetics to turn a “healing” fast into a potentially
lethal eating disorder. Fasters beware.
There’s a poignant moment in Rakoff’s piece when he hears a
woman on the subway asking her fellow passengers if they have any food to share. He’s too embarrassed to tell her exactly why
he doesn’t, and in that painful split-second of truth the fallacy of fasting
explodes.