I just can't stop...this is such an interesting journey and I've had so much time to think about things throughout this weekend that I had to post again. I'm going to fight this bitch, let me just get that out first and foremost.
Recovering from such a resilient and long-lived eating disorder is no joke. My inner starving African child is sneering at the whole bit, though. How do I have any right to complain about this? My biggest issue is that I have an unbalanced relationship with food. Yet there is food EVERYWHERE. I am not hungry. In fact, I'm usually never hungry because I can't stop eating. So I do struggle with how ludicrous and invalid this problem sounds to someone who can't afford a can of green beans. But at the same time it has proven to have such a grip on me as to make me contemplate ending my own life on several occasions. Since the wee, tender age of 7. An adversary that only gets stronger and more vigorous with age. How rude.
Anyway. I'm not done. I've been working on my book a lot lately, getting out of the house to go write at Starbucks or the library, and going on a lot of walks. As a matter of fact I go on so many walks that I'm positive that the good citizens of San Marcos think I'm a vagrant wanderer. With a side order of schizophrenia. But I love walking. It's hard for my inner Ana to shut up while I'm walking though, I'll give you that. To someone like me there is always the constant consideration that walking does not burn as many calories as running. I try to stuff a sock in Ana's mouth.
I've been doing really well today. I'm back in the trenches, doing the work that is required of me to become a functional human being. I'm focusing on waiting on my own hunger to eat, and allowing myself to actually EAT when that signal comes. It almost makes me cry just thinking about how childish and elementary that goal sounds, but I spent 14 years denying and abusing my most basic instincts. Now it's time to hear them again. It's such a long road. And I've only been doing well for a few hours...what about tonight? Night time is when the demons come, and I can't ever sleep, so there's no respite in that area. Just thinking about all of those waking hours with all of those thoughts is enough to make me want to give up. For every good day of mine there will always be a night time. I'm trying not to look any further than right now.
The second hardest part of this process seems to be my perceived opinions of others. I assume that everyone notices the ten pounds that I've gained and judges me harshly for it. You don't even want to know what I imagine that they say. And I feel the weight of their PROBABLY FICTIONAL judgements no matter where I go. So I apologize to those of you who feel alienated during this process. I've been spending a lot of time alone, haven't been answering my phone much or responding to many texts. I wish it wasn't like this, but I can't fight this hard with my eating and thought patterns every second of every day while people watch. I can't struggle with the weight of everyone's eyes while I simultaneously struggle with overcoming an eating disorder. I wish I could do it. One step at a time though. Every day that I listen to and respect my body is another day closer to a self esteem that allows me to interact with you bitches normally. I can't even begin to express in advance how grateful I am to those of you who understand this and will support me from a distance as I gather my legs beneath me and try to stand up.
I can do this. And not only can I do it, I can do it while getting two bachelor's degrees. Watch me.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Oh, you know, just things.
So I randomly am feeling the need to say lots of things today. I'm not entirely sure what I would be saying but I guess I'm about to find out. I'm still on that long road of recovery from my eating disorder. I almost called it "my own personal hell", but it ISN'T hell. Not to someone who suffers from one. It is the beginning and the end. It is everything that matters. It the only thing that matters. And yes, there are times when my disordered thinking and eating cause me so much unbearable pain, but it is also the only way that I know how to make myself valuable. It is the only way that I know how to make myself worth anything to the people around me that I love so much.
We are humans. Humans are highly evolved animals. I still see so much of our humble beginnings in the things we do in modern times. Everything still centers around sex. Everything. You name a behavior, and I'll trace it back to an animal's desire to pass on it's genes. And to be successful at that game, the only game that matters, the root of all other games, you have to be attractive. Luckily I was born with a decently attractive face and an overall healthy immune system and working body parts. But the other half of the attractive equation is the body. I have beaten myself to death trying to make mine perfect, to match it with my face and to become the ultimate super woman, the mythological creature featured in every man's dreams. Why would I chase that? Because I want to win. I want to win the game. I want to look at every face around me and know that they can't touch me. That is something that I loathe to admit,and I know that you do too. Having to see yourself this way isn't fun, or easy. But at least it's true.
I have so, so much more to offer than all of that. I know it. I am smart. I am curious about the world around me. I have a sense of humor. I like to learn. However, no one is willing to love and accept a person who ONLY has that to offer without some sort of deeply rooted sense of resignation. Even the most unattractive and uninteresting male would rather have a beautiful and intelligent woman than just simply an intelligent woman. And it would hurt me so badly to know that every time my mate looks at me, he'd rather I looked like something else. Or had a different body. How painful. And I'm not sure anyone can control it. Anyone who looks at Bar Rafaeli (google it) is going to desire that package more than the one that I come in. That knowledge is too heavy for me to bear, so the only option is to try to BE that. To try to be Bar Rafaeli with a side order of intellect and humor. This struggle has been the defining factor in my life.
I realized today that I don't even know what I enjoy. Why? Because I never viewed it as important. Life is the struggle to be a Victoria's Secret model. Anything that does not pertain to that topic isn't worth thinking about twice.
How insane is that? That I have been living like this for so many years? When I do try to do things that I like, going to Hastings to read a book or whatever, I can't spend longer than 30 minutes there. I get so anxious, like I should be doing something else. I have nothing else to do whatsoever, but somehow I still feel like I don't deserve to just sit around and do things that don't have anything to do with increasing my aesthetic worth.
Mind you, just because I've had this revelation doesn't mean I'm going to now go out and do everything I enjoy and discard my disordered eating forever. I still hate myself every time I look in the mirror. Hatred on a chemical level, even. My body feels sick at a glimpse of my thighs or stomach, and this white-hot flash of despair shoots through me. Every time.
So, mother fuckers, I am still going to go on ANOTHER diet. I am still going to disorder the fuck out of my eating. But to supplement that I will also try to figure out what activities I actually DO like, that give me joy not because they burn calories but because the untarnished ME that is still living in there somewhere gets a kick out of it. I'm not quite sure what to do with this new middle ground...of partaking in a disordered behavior while also doing something helpful and therapeutic. I can tell you what I hope to get out of it, though. I hope that I find my personality. I hope that I find that there is a side to life and A SIDE TO ME that has nothing to do with the number on a scale. Here's to hoping.
We are humans. Humans are highly evolved animals. I still see so much of our humble beginnings in the things we do in modern times. Everything still centers around sex. Everything. You name a behavior, and I'll trace it back to an animal's desire to pass on it's genes. And to be successful at that game, the only game that matters, the root of all other games, you have to be attractive. Luckily I was born with a decently attractive face and an overall healthy immune system and working body parts. But the other half of the attractive equation is the body. I have beaten myself to death trying to make mine perfect, to match it with my face and to become the ultimate super woman, the mythological creature featured in every man's dreams. Why would I chase that? Because I want to win. I want to win the game. I want to look at every face around me and know that they can't touch me. That is something that I loathe to admit,and I know that you do too. Having to see yourself this way isn't fun, or easy. But at least it's true.
I have so, so much more to offer than all of that. I know it. I am smart. I am curious about the world around me. I have a sense of humor. I like to learn. However, no one is willing to love and accept a person who ONLY has that to offer without some sort of deeply rooted sense of resignation. Even the most unattractive and uninteresting male would rather have a beautiful and intelligent woman than just simply an intelligent woman. And it would hurt me so badly to know that every time my mate looks at me, he'd rather I looked like something else. Or had a different body. How painful. And I'm not sure anyone can control it. Anyone who looks at Bar Rafaeli (google it) is going to desire that package more than the one that I come in. That knowledge is too heavy for me to bear, so the only option is to try to BE that. To try to be Bar Rafaeli with a side order of intellect and humor. This struggle has been the defining factor in my life.
I realized today that I don't even know what I enjoy. Why? Because I never viewed it as important. Life is the struggle to be a Victoria's Secret model. Anything that does not pertain to that topic isn't worth thinking about twice.
How insane is that? That I have been living like this for so many years? When I do try to do things that I like, going to Hastings to read a book or whatever, I can't spend longer than 30 minutes there. I get so anxious, like I should be doing something else. I have nothing else to do whatsoever, but somehow I still feel like I don't deserve to just sit around and do things that don't have anything to do with increasing my aesthetic worth.
Mind you, just because I've had this revelation doesn't mean I'm going to now go out and do everything I enjoy and discard my disordered eating forever. I still hate myself every time I look in the mirror. Hatred on a chemical level, even. My body feels sick at a glimpse of my thighs or stomach, and this white-hot flash of despair shoots through me. Every time.
So, mother fuckers, I am still going to go on ANOTHER diet. I am still going to disorder the fuck out of my eating. But to supplement that I will also try to figure out what activities I actually DO like, that give me joy not because they burn calories but because the untarnished ME that is still living in there somewhere gets a kick out of it. I'm not quite sure what to do with this new middle ground...of partaking in a disordered behavior while also doing something helpful and therapeutic. I can tell you what I hope to get out of it, though. I hope that I find my personality. I hope that I find that there is a side to life and A SIDE TO ME that has nothing to do with the number on a scale. Here's to hoping.
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