I have seen this ad a number of times on my Facebook page, and it took me a while to figure out exactly why it bugged me.
In some sense, it was true. I had been damaged by anorexia, yet I really get squeamish about thinking of myself that way. I don't like thinking of myself as "damaged." My illness has changed many aspects of myself--some for the better, some not so much. But as much as anorexia may have altered me, it hasn't damaged who I am.
Yes, anorexia has caused a whole host of damages in my life. The physical ones are a good place to start; my bone density has improved, but it's still sub-par. I tend to be a lot more hesitant, wary, and cynical than I was before. I'm more easily hurt. These are some of the damages that have been done.
But I don't think of myself as "damaged goods." I'm battered, bruised, and scarred, but hell--who isn't? It's called parts of life. I have way more scars than I'd like to have, and some very interesting stories that probably shouldn't be shared with polite company. What that means is that I've survived some pretty heady stuff, had some very close calls, and (hopefully) learned my lesson.
It doesn't mean I am damaged.
I damage my car in a fender-bender. I damage my iPod when I drop it. I can hurt, harm, wound, and maim other people. But that doesn't make them damaged. It makes them victims of my temper and pettiness. My bones are a victim of my anorexia.
I suppose that seeing myself as "damaged" would mean incorporating that damage into who I am as a person. My eating disorder has fundamentally changed me. It's altered many aspects of myself. And yet, I'm still Carrie. Maybe a different Carrie, and older, wiser, and more battered Carrie, but I'm still me. If anorexia damaged me, then it seems like I'm permanently messed up. It's one thing to try and fix a damaged car--or even, say, damaged skin and nails. It's quite another to try and fix a damaged person.