Rescue

I’ve been wrestling a lot lately with my people-pleasing side.

Having nightmares because my work/life balance seems off.

I’ve always wanted to be able to go with the flow- cause no strong current, no choppy waters.

I worry about how people view me, how people will react if I say “no” to something that they expected, even wanted, a “yes” to.

I say yes all of the time to things I have no desire to do, to things I’m internally screaming no at.

My boss asks me to work extra hours, I say “that should work” when I’m really feeling anxiety and a headache coming on from knowing I’ll be stuck at work even more this week.

That’s just one example out of many, sometimes there’s not even an audible question, there’s just a standing expectation.

Sometimes I pile expectations onto myself, and become lost in the self imposed rules I make- “this is my job, if I don’t do it, who will?”

Recovery from anorexia is a conundrum for a people pleaser.

I still have nightmares about it. About what happened when I was at a loss of where to turn.

Of course everything in my body was telling me to keep doing what was keeping me safe.

My doctor, dietitian, and family were telling me I needed to recover.

Please the people, or please the mental illness (which felt like me at the time)?

I still have nightmares about my family turning their backs on me.

In some ways I am still living in my past. When I dream, I am always living at home, yet married.

Always trying to escape my childhood home. Always screaming at my family about how much they hate me and how I don’t understand.

Always trying to find my husband, fumbling with my phone, unable to type out how I need him, I have to get away.

These dreams (nightmares) seem to surface when I’m going through any kind of conflict in my life.

Let me be clear that my family doesn’t hate me (to my knowledge) and it’s been around five years since I felt abandoned by everyone close to me.

I had one of these nightmares last night. Someone was trying to kill me, and no one would defend me.

In some ways, these nightmares seem like they’re telling me a story, one I’ve heard- lived through- before.

One that keeps repeating itself until I learn my lesson.

Conflict? Run.

Anorexia beat me up and left me bruised and broken.

I felt I had nowhere to turn, no home to run to.

This is my biggest trauma.

It feels powerful to write that, like I’ve been waiting for it for a while now.

It makes sense that in my dreams, I am running away. And running towards my husband.

Several years ago, I was pretty lost. I didn’t know what to do in my recovery. I was slipping and those around me were watching me fall.

Maybe it was because I tore all of the ropes and rescue devices right out of their hands. Anorexia didn’t give them many in the first place.

How to rescue someone who can’t be reached?

I ran away, as I am wont to do.

Maybe I’ll finally learn and apply this lesson. Own up to my spirit and heart and say no to what I don’t want.

Maybe I’ll stop running away.

Maybe this will be my rescue.

Going to the river

I had an appointment today, and after thinking about it for a while, I decided to write to get it out. I’m always anxious about my appointments, and I usually leave them feeling good. No matter what your inner dialogue is telling you, if you aren’t feeling yourself it’s a good idea to just talk. It helps. Today when I left, I felt relieved. But I also felt swollen with grief. It’s hard for me to talk about my deepest inner feelings, especially to a professional. I used to keep quiet because I didn’t think anyone really cared. The way my therapist responded to my words today is not the way someone would have reacted to me a year ago. She responded with sincerity and concern, but also with interest. I am not here to glamorize suicide by any means. It’s a very highly arguable subject, and I’d be the last person to ask about how to sway someone the other way. I left my appointment feeling slightly shaken,  and slightly proud. Proud I can be in a place where I can reasonably tell my inner dialogue and thoughts during my darkest moments, and yet not have them overtake every single day of my life. A year ago, the story I told today would have probably landed me in a psych ward. My therapist did use the word “commit” today which freaked me out a little bit. I got so caught up in being open and honest, that I forgot how fragile this subject is. Thankfully I am stable 90% of the time now and can feel free to go over my feelings with my therapist without fearing being whisked off to a small bare room.

The words below are from my own memory, and are not a word for word quote.

I’d also like to point out that September is Suicide Prevention Month, so I think our conversation was quite timely. I’m not “in the well” right now, so don’t freak out. This is just me being my most transparent. I don’t want to feel this way, and I want to prevent my severe depression, if possible.

 

Does the depression remind you of anything in particular? I know you used the dragon with two heads to symbolize ed. What about the depression?

“Ummm, I guess I compared it to a hole in one of my blog posts, but I’ve started to think of it as an old well. I imagine I’ve fallen into the well, and those who love me have thrown down a rope. They’re trying to save me, but I’m not sure if I want to be saved.”

That’s what I thought of when I read your post too. I also thought of this…(rummaging in drawers full of little figurines used for sand-tray therapy, she pulls out a coffin and sets it on the table in front of me) the depression…this coffin doesn’t mean it symbolizes death, but it’s heavy and dark.

“Yeah.”

Do you ever think about hurting yourself when you’re this depressed?

“Yes, when I am in that severely depressed state, like a few weeks ago, I have.”

Have you told the doctor about this?  Do you have suicidal thoughts often?

“Only when I’m really depressed. It just takes me back to the early years of ed and how that felt. I was always in that dark place. I’ve talked to Dan about it before.”

Did you ever have a plan, or imagine what would happen?

“Yes.”

(smiling sadly)

“I would go to Dairy Queen and get a Blizzard, because I never allowed myself Blizzard’s. Then I’d drown myself in the river. And I mean, I grew up in a house…well, my dad hunted, so there were guns. I knew where the key was to his workshop door. Or I thought about the kitchen knives.”

(eyes welling up)

What stopped you from ever doing anything? Have you ever gone to the river?

“Well, Dan and I were talking before once, and he said to imagine my little brother, and how my parents would have to explain to him what had happened. Guilt…and fear. I’d, well, I’d be dead, but thinking about how it would hurt everyone who loves me…I’ve never gone to the river.”

And fear about what, dying?

“Well, dying. And pain. And I mean, I don’t know where we go when we die.”

Did anyone ever know you were having these thoughts when you were younger?

“No. I talked to my mom, but I’d never tell her this kind of thing. Because, her favorite word is ‘joy’…”

Okay. And have you felt this way lately?

“Not since that last time I was really depressed. It’s more of an option, running in my mind in the background when I’m very depressed.”

 

 

They & you

They eat freely. Picking and choosing. Pondering tastes and textures. They sip and slurp.

You take ages to become comfortable. You choose each bite with the precision of a royal queen. Nothing will pass these lips that does not taste as it should.

They shop with abandon. Pulling bags and boxes from the shelves. Tossing cartons and containers into the cart.

You take time. It took so long for you to find the tasty foods you will ingest. Now you must make that time count.

They get hungry, and eat. They know food will be there for them whenever they need it. 

You get hungry, and you question it. Are you really hungry? What should you eat? What sounds good? But what if you’re wrong?

They welcome the opportunity to try new cuisine. They welcome hunger. 

You shy away from need and want. There is no need. And wanting equates to greed.

Who do you think you are? Really, who? Superwoman? Invincible? 

This disease has broken you. You aren’t even a hybrid, running off of an alternative source of energy. No. Because that is not sustainable. You can only live for so long chugging water and eating those foods.

Remember when you were on the brink? How you would feel time begin to slow. How you could barely hold your heavy head up.

How afraid you were of medicine. Cutting pieces off, or “forgetting” to take it all together. How you lied and believed the pills would turn your emotions off.

How tired and forgetful you were. How dead you felt inside. Remember the fear. The way anxiety held you in its grip just like a vise. 

How even the simplest things were fraught with tension. You had to do everything now or else you weren’t good enough.

How fearful you were of others. You knew everyone hated you and talked about you when you weren’t within hearing distance.

How cold you were. Summer was only a brief reprieve, and even then it was only on the hottest days.

How your lips turned blue when you drank your beloved ice cold Diet Coke.

How you feverishly read, lapping up words like water. Food might not sustain you, but a book did. 

How meals were filled with tension. How you couldn’t understand what your husband meant when he said he wanted to eat a meal with you.

How you hated to shower, because you knew you’d be too cold afterwards to get dressed.

How you would sooner starve than eat what you didn’t “want”.

How you lied so much to yourself and your family.

How you cried and begged for them to just let you go.

Thank god they were stronger. That they didn’t listen. Your husband gently reminds you of what could have been. He brings you to tears when he helps you imagine how they would have to explain your short life to your beloved youngest brother.

Sometimes we can’t see where we have been while we are still fleeing. Sometimes it takes bad times to remember the good. And vice versa. Remember your past. Forgetting could mean destruction. 

Looking back doesn’t make you weak, and it doesn’t mean you have to return to where you’ve been. Sometimes it can simply be seeing how far you’ve come.

A day in the life

Wake from a night full of vivid dreams. Usually something along the lines of someone you love leaving you, or a nightmare about your previous place of employment. Lay in bed and check in with your stomach. Are you hungry? Breakfast is coming either way. If it’s a morning when you have to work, you usually stay in bed until the last possible minute, soaking up the warmth and comfort of your bed.

Get up and shuffle to the bathroom. Look in the mirror and groan at the state of your hair. It’s a tangled mess, sticking up every which way. Brush your hair, use the toilet. Pick up your beauty blender sponge and your make up compact and swirl it around. Find your trusty eyeliner and make a quick, efficient sweep around your sleepy eyes.

Peek into your closet and choose a shirt. Probably something with long sleeves, just in case you get chilly. Maybe choose a new pair of jeans or leggings and socks. Change, and put on your glasses. By this time you have turned on your iPod and begun listening to a podcast. It keeps your mind churning with ideas for recovery. Gallop downstairs and gather your purse, book, Kindle, keys (breakfast, if you’re working). Sweep a look around to make sure you have everything.

Walk out the door, pull it shut behind you, rattling the windows. Compulsively check the mailbox. You never know when a piece of mail might appear. What magazine might show up today? Maybe it will only be bills and junk mail. Or maybe a letter!

Walk to your car, hitting the unlock button constantly, over and over. Get inside and start it up, noting that you will need to go get gas soon. Sigh. Gas. You keep putting it off, but you know when you do finally go get some, you will pull up beside pump 6, what has become “your pump” in a way. Back up, turn up your podcast, switch to “drive” and pull out of the driveway. Today you could be on your way to work, or your parents house for breakfast. If you go to your parents, you will greet your family and dog, and set about making French toast. If you go to work, you will…go to work! After eating breakfast, think about lunch.Then try to steer your thoughts somewhere else for a while. And then debate about having coffee, though it sounds good coffee usually makes you feel sick. Not worth the risk today.

Early afternoon now. Get home, sometimes after running errands. Check the mailbox again. Sometimes you get nothing in the mail, which is always disappointing. You love mail. Go inside and take off your coat and shoes. Time for lunch. What will you have? Lunch is always the hardest for you. Your fridge has options, but ed has opinions. Lately you’ve been eating a lot of the same stuff. You pour out some ranch dip and grab some baby carrots. You reach to the top of the fridge and pull down a bag of pita chips (so good!). You decide to have some crackers and cheese also. M&M ‘s will be your “fun food”. Try not to think about calories. If you do, tel yourself calories are irrelevant. You sit down and eat, usually while looking at a magazine or reading a book. You try to be mindful, but sometimes that hurts you more than it helps.

Lunch is over, so you pick up the book you’re reading and read and read and read. If you get sleepy sometimes you start to drift off as you read. If you’re tired enough, you’ll fall asleep for a while. Sometimes in the afternoons you take care of your plants and terrariums. Other times you organize and clean. Sometimes you intentionally take a nap. If it’s a nice day, you can be found reading outside. Wonder what you will have for dinner.

Dinner is usually with your husband, but sometimes your parents. Either way, you know you will be eating enough, and ed won’t be quite as loud. There’s always a little anxiety around food, but usually not as intense as it used to be. And every night you have dessert, which is always delicious. In the evenings you watch TV, read, browse Instagram and Pinterest. Sometimes you do yoga for a 20 minute session. You find that being mindful of your breathing is so very calming. Honestly though? You’re already thinking of your bedtime snack.

It’s almost 11:00 and time for bed. Sometime before this you have had a snack of some kind. Usually a granola bar (or two!). You brush your teeth and wash your face, lamenting over a pimple or two. Take your pills. Remember that iron supplement you always forget. Get in bed and read for an hour or so, or whenever you start to drift off. Turn over and fall asleep.

It’s OK not to be OK

I have a handful of podcasts I listen to when I have time. The other morning I woke up super early, and couldn’t get back to sleep. Instead of getting frustrated about just laying there, I decided to see what podcast episodes I had to catch up on. “All The Books” is a favorite of mine, but I won’t have a new episode of it until Tuesday. A few podcasts hadn’t downloaded completely, so those were out. Scrolling down I recognized a name in one of the subtitles. Kelsey Miller. Kelsey is, in a word, amazing. She wrote a book recently called “Big Girl” which I could totally relate to, and every woman should read (I’m not just saying this, she is so very with it when it comes to how we feel about our bodies). The podcast is called Food Psych, and I’ve enjoyed previous episodes so I started playing the episode, knowing I would probably be awake for the duration of it. Sometimes music or quiet voices lull me to sleep, but Kelsey Miller and the host of the podcast, Christy Harrison? This was gonna be good.

I was half awake, but I’m pretty sure this is the episode I took away a really profound question from. And that is: when I am starving myself or cutting or denying myself whatever…what am I needing? Obviously I am having horrible feelings and responding to them, but what emotions and feelings are they? Fear? Hatred? Shame? Hurt? How about all of the above…the trick is finding ways to practice self-care during these spells. Whether that is taking time for yourself, eating a favorite food, watching a TV show or movie, listening to music, going for a drive…the list goes on and on. You are the only one who knows what you need. But just because you are the one acknowledging how you feel and what you might need, doesn’t mean you can’t ask for help or tell someone what’s going on (I need to take this advice myself, probably more than I realize).  Sometimes you might not know what you need, and that’s OK too. I guess my point is: it’s OK not to be OK, as long as we are working towards being OK…OK?

I hate to admit it, but I’ve felt so good since I began trying to come back from the edge of destruction, that it’s really hard to accept it when I don’t feel good. It was really crappy to have to deal with my body when suddenly my uterus woke up a few weeks ago. I wasn’t prepared, in fact I was in denial that I would ever have to face that particular problem again. It sucks when I feel sad or depressed. Everything can be just fine, but sometimes I’m not. Often, there’s no rhyme or reason. Hormones? The moon? Who knows. I caught myself thinking the other day that my life had no purpose. I began to have obsessive thoughts about how unhappy I must make my family. I hate wallowing in my depression, it’s so selfish and annoying. An endless cycle.

So when I feel depressed, why am I feeling that way? Is my life so unhappy? Do I have any reason to complain? What do I need in those moments? What is my body telling me? Sounds to me like I need a healthy dose of self-care. I’m working on it. I’m working on it.

Guilt for no reason

I rolled over onto my stomach in my sleep last night, and woke up briefly when I moved my arm. Draped over my side, my arm allowed my hand to brush against my belly. “Fat! I can’t eat anymore!” I remember promising myself I would do better, that I wouldn’t allow this to continue. For so many years, I had dreams (or nightmares?) about being “out of control” and eating, only to have to “make up for it” later. Of my parents yelling at me, and me yelling back, about some altercation surrounding food. (This never happened in real life, but to me this is an obvious sign of me wanting to please my family, knowing how much I was hurting them as well as myself.) How deeply this illness runs in me. How it has power not only over my awake self, but also my dream state. Ed is like Satan. Maybe ed is Satan.

Once I woke up for good, I didn’t have any hesitation about eating my breakfast. After years of starving myself, I relish each meal. I marvel at how stupid it was, to see my husband eating regular meals, but I had to wait. I couldn’t have what he was having. I couldn’t have what they were having! Why? Nope! Don’t even think it. Stop right there! Not because I was afraid of getting fat. No. It was guilt holding me back. Guilt and fear. Fear of my own reaction. Fear of having to live with myself after consuming fuel. Fear of the unknown. Guilt from having dirtied my body with food. Guilt because I surely didn’t deserve to feel full and good. Guilt for no reason really. It feels like guilt, but the logistics aren’t there. That’s because eating disorders aren’t logical. They are like taking a knife to a wound that is already bleeding, and driving the blade of that knife in so deep. The pain you are trying to cover up with a bandage just gets worse. Obviously. Because no one ever healed a wound by wounding themselves further.

I don’t have the constant thoughts about food and my body like I used to. I don’t get anxious because I need to mail a package, and I need to do it now otherwise the world might stop spinning. If I need to do something, I do it and usually everything turns out fine. Even if I don’t do it right away. I do think about food quite a bit, bit not in the negative way I used to. Yes, sometimes I think about food negatively, as in “I want it but I won’t have it”. Those thoughts will probably stick around for a while. The point is, I don’t dwell on them, or act on them like I used to. I wish so much that I could bottle up the formula to recovery, so others could take it and thrive. I know that everyone has a different journey though, and that is a beautiful thing.

The sad thing is, if I were asked how I came to be where I am now, I would answer this way: I had to struggle and fight with myself and ed so much. I had to be ready, and choose this path for myself. No one else could choose it for me. Sometimes I get morose and regretful about not doing this sooner. But then I realize that I had chances. All of those days, nights, weeks and years that I chose not to change…those were all on me. Not fully and totally, I knew what I was doing, but I was addicted. I still am. I know that, just like any other addiction, if I taste that sweet taste of it again, I will slip back. Thankfully, there’s these beautiful and delicious things called Sara Lee Party Cakes that keep me grounded, so if I ever seem to be losing my grip on recovery, shove one in my mouth and it will revive me.

Contentment

With the new year having arrived, I am hearing a lot of chatter about contentment. Hannah Brencher is probably one of the first I was aware of. Hannah is amazing. She was depressed, and wrote love letters to strangers to help quell her homesickness. She puts together lovely bundles of letters for people who need them. And apparently, she is addicted to Target, like me. It seems like every year, things keep popping up that we humans need. And not only things, but we need the right body, and the best diet, and the perfect job. We are always trying to better ourselves. But what if we’re fixing something that was never broken in the first place?

I have struggled with mending broken things. A lot. I’m not very good at it, but really…who is? It’s easy to look back and see where we went wrong. Where we could have taken a different route and never run into trouble. The “what ifs” can be crippling. Somewhere along the line we have to accept the hand were dealt, right? But there are some things that can be fixed…or at least put back together, with glue holding the pieces back together. I am one of those things. I didn’t see it for a long time. It took me years. Most of the time, what kept me from moving forward was my fears. Fear of failure. Fear of who I might be (or become). Fear of what it would take. Every second I waited, I moved further away from the true me.

But recovery wasn’t even a choice for me, at some points. I wasn’t strong enough to fight ed, even though every day I didn’t fight, his grip got stronger. “Oh well” I thought. “I’m happy this way. I don’t want anything to change”. Yeah. Uh-huh. Because not being able to go out to eat at lunch and enjoy myself is being happy. Because eating a tortilla with low fat cream cheese for supper makes me happy. Because not drinking milk makes ed happy. Because not eating meat makes ed happy. Because low fat, low calorie, MAKES ED HAPPY. At some point, I stopped making choices for myself, based on what I knew was good for me, and started letting ed make the decisions for me. Scary stuff.

Now that I am climbing my way out of my pit of despair, I see things so much more clearly. It feels so good to put myself before ed. I get down sometimes when I feel like I have ruined myself, that I will never be normal, that if I ever want to eat healthier or exercise for my health, everyone will think it’s ed. That I will think it’s ed. These things come with time, I just have to keep reminding myself of that. I struggle with material contentment, but I also struggle with physical contentment. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to be gorgeous and hailed as the beauty queen. I don’t really care about outward beauty and how I look. Not in that way. Ed does. He says I care too. But I don’t. I just want to feel content in this body that I have. I want to feel at home, in a way I haven’t since I was ten. I’m working towards that. It’s all about listening and feeling and being present. It’s about knowing it’s ok to relax, and if your feet ache, reveling in the relief of sitting down. It’s being tired and taking a nap, and putting on comfy clothes because those jeans are too stiff. It’s lip balm when my lips are sexy and moisturizer when my face feels like it might crack. Being content is hard, and I don’t think I quite know the true meaning of it. Not yet anyway. It is fleeting, dashing around the corner…there, I see it! I have it in my sights. I’m not tracking it down, but I am studying it. I am a student of contentment and love. Life is a journey. Embrace it.

These days, they look brighter

A week ago–

I woke up counting calories last night. This has happened to me before, and it is usually a prelude to dreams (nightmares) about eating things I don’t want to, or being forced to eat. A few days ago I had a really “bad” body day. I ate breakfast fine, even had some coffee. But then in the afternoon I just felt uncomfortable in my body. I felt irritable and scratchy. Like I wanted to rip my skin off. I think I may have felt this way because on Friday night I put on some jeans and they fit weird. All of a sudden I was much too aware of my body and being larger in places than I had been before. My thighs. My waist. They are growing. I have taken to wearing leggings or yoga pants when I can, because I feel better when I wear them. I know some day I will have to face my jeans, this week probably. When I put on clothes and they fit me “right”, I usually respond in one of two ways. One, I am excited I can wear something I haven’t in ages. Or two, I am overtaken by Ed and he pinches the fat around my middle and circles his hands around my legs, showing me how they aren’t small enough for his long fingers and broad palms to span them anymore.

He reminds me that this might be forever. My body will never be as small as it is today again. That’s a hard truth to face. It’s not like I enjoy being the smallest adult in the room, but it has been me for so long. I need to find a new identity, and right now I’m not sure what that will look like. Will I be the funny one? The weird one? The strong one? I try to remind myself I don’t have to BE anything. I can just be me, whatever that turns out to be. All of my work seems temporary. Ed whispers that this doesn’t have to be forever, I am an expert at losing weight. I can do it again. I have to shut those whispers out though, because the truth is; I can’t go back. These changes I make? All or nothing. Steps backward are ok if I take two steps forward. Otherwise I will just keep going back and back and back.

Today–

I had my first ever caramel macchiato. Last night I had a doughnut for the first time in forever. This past week has been super stressful, and I feel like demons are on the prowl. But with support from my family and friends, I am hanging in there. I feel good physically, and much more stable mentally. I am now able to bounce back from tough situations without taking much, if any damage. I am loving how mild our fall here has been. It’s been so beautiful and I have been able to enjoy the sun, sitting outside and reading. I’m also really excited to be starting a new job next week. Hopefully I’ll have some extra free time and be able to participate in more family events and hang out with friends more. I’m trying to focus on the things that matter in life. So many years, I spent my days hating myself and my life. Now each day seems brighter, and I am confident that whatever comes my way, I have the tools and resources to live through it and thrive.

Cause < Effect

Years ago when I was first diagnosed with an eating disorder, it seemed like I was always, always questioning the circumstances behind why I developed anorexia. What came first? The depression, or the eating disorder? I really got caught up in this question, and it wasn’t until I was talking to a friend later, who had come to me to ask me some questions about anorexia and eating disorders in general, that I stopped focusing on that question so much. At one point, while talking to her, I think I just kept saying over and over that I didn’t know what came first. Was I depressed, and then did I lose my appetite and start to restrict? Or did I begin eating less and less in an attempt to be “healthier” and grow depressed because I wasn’t getting enough nutrients? She made the point that I may never know, and why dwell on that? The important thing is to get better. She is so right.

With something like anorexia, it might not really matter what caused it, at least for recovery. In my case, I have found that I am curious about the circumstances and what might have caused me to develop disordered eating, but I know it wasn’t because of something that happened to me. I wasn’t abused or anything, which I think might sometimes be assumed by certain health professionals, or just society in general. I think there may be some connection between how I perceive my body, and how I treat it. I read a line in a book a while ago, where the protagonist says she never felt like her body was her own. She was almost afraid of it. I feel that way often. And if I feel that way, of course it’s going to be easy for me to care less for it. It has only been within the last month or so, that I have realized I can put lotion on my dry skin, and be taking care of myself. If my lips are chapped, I can put balm on them, and be taking care of myself. It seems so simple, and ridiculous, right? But for years, I never did anything to remedy these simple things, because I just didn’t care, I didn’t feel worth it. You can imagine how I would view food then, if I was already dabbling in disordered eating. I always felt like I wasn’t worth the food. Someone else should eat it instead of me, because I wouldn’t enjoy it enough. Never feeling like I “owned” my body gave me permission to treat it with less compassion than I should. I feel like I am slowly recognizing ways I can be kind to myself and heal. Depression might have played a role in the onset of an eating disorder, I know it really affects how I treat myself now, and view recovery. I value myself a whole lot less when I feel less than spectacular. I start questioning life, why I’m here, if life is even worth living. Right now it’s hard for me to remember what it feels like to be depressed, because I’m in a better place. And when I’m depressed it’s hard for me to remember what being happy feels like. More and more though, I am beginning to believe that genetics played a huge role in how my adolescence played out. “Genetics load the gun, environment (or circumstances) pulls the trigger.” If one quote could sum up how I feel about anorexia, that just might be it. I do think that lack of food causes me to feel crappy. Of course it does. But I think something in my brain may have always been on the prowl. I may have always had a genetic disposition to develop some sort of mental illness, and over the course of a few short months of eating less and exercising more, my brain got rewired faster than it should have, and suddenly I was more likely to eat less, exercise excessively, and feel less than happy about food as fuel. Or maybe it was always there with me. I can look back on certain instances and remember always feeling a certain way about food. Always feeling indebted to something, and always feeling unworthy. I write all of this in hopes that maybe it will help someone else come to find peace about the “why” behind their circumstances. I think I’m also writing this to try to lay to rest the thoughts and feelings I have today.

I won’t ever know for certain why I developed an eating disorder, but I do know it happened. And I also know that I am finally, finally ready to look my problems in the face and tell them to just give up. Because though sometimes it feels useless, and like I am fighting a worthless battle against myself, I know that there is a part of me that has gone rogue. It’s sickly and diseased, and it has to go. And the only way to do that is to be persistent and keep fighting. I recently saw this post pop up in my Facebook news feed, courtesy of one of my friends.

It’s interesting how my view of eating disorders used to be one of uncertainty and judgement. I thought the people doing the starving were intentionally hurting themselves. For me, on some level, I knew what I was doing…after the fact. But initially, I didn’t have a name to put to what was afflicting me. I remember writing in my journal that we had finally found out what was wrong. That I had been diagnosed with an eating disorder. This is also a good read, that I think helps to prove that eating disorders aren’t always intentional, or what we as a society think they are or should be.

There is no “normal”

I’m sitting here mulling over what I want to write. I guess I’m a little sick of myself at the moment. Just fed up with my antics and how I treat people, how I treat myself. I try not to be self-centered, for years I thought of myself as selfless…but you know what? That’s as far from the truth as it gets. I am so focused on myself and what is going on with me, me me. But the funny thing is, no matter how focused I am on myself, I don’t actually pay attention to what my body and self are feeling. Sure, sometimes an emotion takes hold or I feel tired or hungry or bored or whatnot. But I have become quite adept at blocking out anything that really matters. I have developed strategies to avoid feeling anything wholly and completely.

I multi-task. I numb myself to life by escaping through a book. I turn off my inner signals for food and nourishment and rest because I don’t want to feel uncomfortable or…good. It’s like I revel in making myself suffer. So how can I get out of this rut? There are people out there that write and speak about first loving yourself and then you will have the ability to love others. I’m not sure how I feel about this idea. Yes, I believe that in order to have the ability to love, one must first be loved. Yes, I think that having compassion for yourself is a good thing, and being kind to your body and soul probably would assist in a person being able to do the same to those around them. But how far must this “self-love” reach? Can it simply be taking time for yourself? A little treat here and there? Or does it have to be as complicated as accepting all of your flaws and failures, pointing out what you like about yourself, to yourself, letting yourself feel good, letting yourself have what you want within reason, adoring your body?

The more I read and delve into stories about women and eating habits, I realize the majority of women seem to have some issue with food and body image, whether it be as big as an eating disorder, or as small as hating the color of your eyes. Women just seem to have this preoccupation with how they look, and no wonder. At every turn, there is a model or actress that looks pretty darn flawless. Diet tips and beauty regimes fill the pages of a plethora of magazines and internet headlines. Young girls are developing eating disorders and body image problems earlier and earlier. I have found myself contemplating how this thought pattern is even developed. I know when I was younger, I was not privy to the gossip magazines and television ads that girls nowadays are. The one commercial that sticks in my head is one that played after Arthur, for Juicy Juice, an ad campaign encouraging the consumption of a sugary liquid, which I would have happily indulged in, but made do with store “Old Orchard” frozen concentrate mixed in a pitcher. I wasn’t taught to dislike my body, to fear weight gain, to pinch my thighs and worry about whether or not they were thicker today than yesterday. Nope, actually I was just as surprised as everyone else when I was diagnosed with and eating disorder. I literally had no idea what anorexia was, or what it looked like. How did I know what to do then, to restrict and weigh and run? A genetic predisposition? A vitamin deficiency? The brain can rewire itself, yes. But how are the symptoms and actions implemented if the person doing the things doesn’t even know what they are doing?

If you really think about it, the whole body image thing is really weird and scary. Sure, I can recall people commenting on how tall and thin I was, even before I had an eating disorder. My mom dabbled in a diet here or there. Sometimes she would limit our sweets, or tell us to wait until after dinner. Sometimes as a joke my dad would snag a cookie from my plate when I wasn’t looking, and gobble it down while I protested, sometimes tearfully…but he would always replace it with a new one. What is a parent to do? Tiptoe around in fear that their child will develop an eating disorder because of one or two tiny comments or paying attention to nutrition? No. I don’t blame my eating disorder on anyone but myself. Not even society or media can be blamed for my issues. I caused them, I’ll own them. How does one learn to hate oneself, without anyone teaching them?

So what is “normal”? Where do we cross the line? When does healthy become unhealthy? Obviously something is wrong when an obsessive pattern occurs, such as restricting for days on end, exercising excessively, measuring out portions, eating the same foods over and over (especially low-calorie ones), skipping meals with regularity, counting calories. How can we protect the future generations from foibles such as the ones I am facing? I don’t know. Educate them? Perhaps…but then you run the risk of instructing them on how exactly to develop an eating disorder!

What are your thoughts on body image issues and what women (and men!) face every day? How can the sickness and obsession be remedied?