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Saturday, October 10, 2009
(I wrote this when I was mad at those trying to help me in recovery from my eating disorder. )
They say that those of us who have eating disorders have an "all or nothing mentality." I denied this at first, and for months, I've played along with the idea of trying to be "recovered."
I'll admit, having shinny hair and coal lined eyes again did seem like good reasons, to at least, attempt to make a stride for recovery.
But did you really think that I am doing this because I want to look good? Did you think that you could fix me if you told me that "this" wasn't attractive?
I'll try to fix the outside if it makes it easier for you to look at me. If it softens the blow, then by all means, watch me, as I fall and attempt to do this for you.
You dangled the idea of being "normal and recovered" in front of me and I want you to know that it taunted me at every bite. I tried. I swallowed my fears as my mind raced. But my idea of normal isn't normal, I thought it was, and it felt so right. In the end, your point is proven and now I feel overstuffed and deflated, all at once.
I don't blame you. In the back of my mind, I know this way of thinking is sickening. This illness, blurs the right and wrongs, so it doesn't sting as much when I strike back at your "fake it till you make it" and "this too shall pass," attempts at motivational speeches.
Every time, I reach for the spoon, I hesitate and wish that you would turn away. At times, I hate that I am not trusted to be left alone at the table.
There are times, like right now, that it feels like it would be easier if I gave into the eating disordered thoughts. But I can't think about that right now. It's almost midnight, and I have one more snack left to eat.
Your eyes are on me, your face has soften, and the clock won't stop ticking. I wish that I could be capable of being "normal" with food for you. It's been all or nothing for a very long time now. I just need you to know that I am trying.
***
I am to blame, for everything
I like this game, that you all
make me play
**
I'm Done Lyrics
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Yesterday, I ate an extra snack.
Eating that extra snack, did not happen without having behaviors. I was second guessing myself, stalling, and walked aimlessly around campus (not to burn calories, no that came later) but I finally got it together and ate the snack.
At lunch time, I ate but then I walked around the whole university campus for hours. It was around 99 degrees and I was sweating but somehow I felt that I "needed" to do it.
As I was walking around the campus, I wasn't feeling like a recovering anorexic. It so eerie how that part of me can leave me so easily. I wasn't looking at people. Somehow, if I looked at these strangers in the eye, they would know.
Surely, they can see it, without me saying it. The baggy pants and make-up can only hide so much. But I would rather have them see the physical me and not the me that's engaging in the behaviors.
The day after, always adds a new perspective. But this shift in sight doesn't bring with it reason.
Entry after entry, meal after meal, I am filled with contradictions. One day, I am recovering the next I am falling into the behaviors.
Recovery doesn't happen by following a path like they would like you to believe. It isn't like you walk upright with both feet on the ground and then stumble off. That doesn't analogy doesn't explain the madness that makes you wonder off.
No, it's not like that at all. It's more like you are on a rollercoaster ride. You get on and off and get turned upside down and spin around, really fast, in all directions and sometimes your contents come spilling out afterwards. At times, you have a stupid grin on your face when the earth wobbles beneath you because the rush was intense.
It's the rush that draws you back in, time after time, back to anorexia. It's a hard feeling to give up and forget. There is still the agony that comes with eating or not and I honestly don't remember what it feels like not to have this.
I need to start to believe that the path of recovery exists, that it is malleable with twists and turns. But I am still spinning around and inside out.
Recovery is suppose to be better than this so I will carry on.
**
I did better today: 2 meals and 3 snacks.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
The scale reads the same as yesterday.
I should feel motivated to gain but as you know; you take a step forward and then back; and up is still down.
So I sit here, a bundle of contradictions.
I ate today.
I ate yesterday and days before too.
So what makes today a "victory"?
After all, the day has just begun and I still have 2 more meals to go.
When I first started off, 2 months and 13 days ago, I thought I would have been further along in my recovery.
I sit here, searching the furthest corners of my mind trying to find proof that this effort hasn't been a waste and that I AM better.
In the beginning, after eating, I would get cold chills and get sleepy right away. I also began to experience night sweats. I was eating and keeping the food in but my body was still losing weight.
My days back then, centered on walking to the kitchen table and eating my three meals. Then limping back to bed to deal with the aftermath and panic.
My "victory" today is laughable, at best, to most.
The Food Network isn't playing on the background. I don't turn to ice after eating and melt at night. The anxious feeling I get after eating has subsided for now.
I probably won't bother with my hair or make-up, the tv is still on permanent mute, and I still keep a box of tissues at arms length.
But back to the victory thing (my mind still wanders)
I ate. The behaviors and thoughts are still very much there but I am not going to act on them. I might drag my feet to the table and nervously tap at the spoon until it's over.
Today isn't a stride in recovery and there have been no setbacks yet.
It's a standstill an indifference at moments.
So, I declare this standstill as my victory today. I am not going to fret on what could've been or what was.
 
Sunday, May 18, 2008
At first, I tried to protest and defy
Do you hear them too?
Faint echoes that resonate until I comply
I try to makes sense as they fill my head
Do they occupy a space in you?
Murmurs that intensify begging to be fed
I keep her words locked up inside
Does she silence you?
Tainted words seep out-one by one-until I abide
I swallow air until I am skin and bones
Does she consume you too?
Silent pleads stir within me
I polish my armor of sticks and stones
As she greedily licks at my core
Did she leave you the bones?
**************************************
I wish I could go back and erase those words but that won't dull the pain that they've created.
Playing with the semantics and syntax or presenting them in a fashion that won't offend you won't ease my conscious or leave me feeling less exposed.
This was written before I had absolutely no intention of fighting this monster called anorexia. I had yet to experience the panic brought on by bulimia or had become an addict. Yeah, that came later, like I was saying, my protests were silent and I polished my armor but I did not fire.
Recovery, at the time, was just an idea that roamed around my head and one that I did not spend time entertaining .
At the time, I had yet to feel the self-loath or resentment that followed when I realized that I've been disappearing, fading, waiting to die.
I am not the same person who wrote those words anymore.
I know I must be making some progress but I feel trapped living with the duality of wanting recovery and not wanting to let go.
I feel like I am living in a little cell, that is getting smaller and I am afraid that one day i'll become indifferent. I don't know how I got to this place but after being here so long, the familiarity gets mistaken for safety. I should be banging at the bars or trying to pry the lock off.
Only, there is no cell and I am free to roam about but I can't because there is this big fear that looms in my head. It's always the same thought that repeats and leaves me frozen.
I wish I could verbalize it and try to begin to explain it. These words, thoughts, and behaviors cloud my perception but I know that they aren't really mine; they belong to anorexia. There was a time when I wasn't disordered. Why can't I remember?
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