Anorexia's Eyes
It doesn't happen often but there are times when I look at myself in the mirror and I am fully able to see the damage caused from anorexia and bulimia.
It only lasts for split seconds and it's always shocking. Then, I can't hold on to the image and the Ed takes over.
It's scary not to be able to trust your eyes and have to go against what seems so right in my mind.
Bulimia's Eyes
I am looking into the mirror and I am at my worst. Starvation shrinks the stomach and it aches to keep the food in. My face is bare and the tears run down my cheeks because I know that bulimia will make my eyes more red, cause my cheeks to puff out more and sometimes leave marks on my knuckles.
I always stare at myself after I purge because that's when I can see that my insides match my outside. With anorexia, everything just gets numb and I can't see it.
Day 1 of 30 -Listing My Ed Behaviors
(woke up to the effects of too many laxatives)
*breakfast-didn't feel like I binged
*lunch-didn't feel like I binged
*Dinner-hamburger and cinnabun-I felt like I binged and threw up. I cried and was very emotional. It hurts to be this full.I took 4 laxative pills.
Sticks and Stones
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 eating disordered. Why can't I remember?
Failed to Satiate
Is it worth pretending that I’m sticking to my meal plan and that I’m looking forward to growing out of my double 00's?
Is it worth pretending that I’m not sitting here addicted to this emptiness and strumming my bones?
Is wearing the layers, pulling off a nightly magic act with my food, and hiding behind the medicated smile worth it?
I fed them the lie one too many times and it failed to satiate.
It's not the fact that I'm anorexic that brings me down, it's the fact that I CAN'T FEEL IT in me to recover.
That's my internal struggle and big secret that keeps me both trapped and mesmerized with this void.
Maybe this means that I’m losing my grip or maybe this just makes me mentally ill?
But I can’t bring myself to tell them that this is so much bigger than me.
Saying good-bye to ana and mia was just wishful thinking and didn’t erase the years of damage.
If I could only find it in me to want to recover then I could offer them hope but I can’t.
I am having trouble eating and I think I’m losing again.
So I am pretending again because we’ve been down this path so many times and somehow pretending their hugs aren’t bone checks and my truths aren’t lies makes it easier to get through the day.
Thin Air
About my Eating Disorder:
I feel like a kid who has just been told that Santa isn‘t real. Every year after that, it stings, the fantasy is forever gone.
It was time to move on and start believing in something else….
“She was real.” I pronounce each word with so much force and venom that even I am surprised.
I am left alone, given time to come up with an apology; but I can’t because I start to stare at the gaps, the hallow indents of flesh missing from my frame; evidence of her existence.
They walked away and I heard them talking. “it’s just a phase… she‘ll learn to forget.”
But I don’t and I can’t, because if she wasn’t real, if she wasn’t a part of me, then I am not real.
I heard her, every night, when everything was still and empty. Her low murmurs let me know that it was safe to let go. I felt her too, after I was forced to eat and it hurt to much to be still.
You can have my naive nature. My belief in the Easter bunny, tooth fairy, magical leprechauns, and any remanding shred of childlike innocence that allowed me to believe in something that I can’t see; but not this!
She was real!!!
I still hear her, when you see me pensive, lost in thought. I try not to listen because I promised I wouldn‘t.
When you see me defeated, curl up and wrapped in blankets, after meal time; it’s her voice that lulls me to sleep.
You bend down to kiss me and wonder out loud how I could feel so cold when it’s 85 degrees. I am paralyzed with one thought, “she’s still right here..Why can’t you feel her?”
Her voice still roams around in my head.
I need to feel her exit, I need that feeling back because the bigger I get, the bigger “it” gets… So please.…please, let me just have this one illogical nuance; let me keep this, She was real.
If she wasn’t real; then, this is something that exists only in my head; self-created and self-serving.
Something that I can turn on and off, at will, or something I control.
I know, that’s a reality that I must face one day but not today.
You see, if she is real then, I am allowed time to grieve, time to adjust {to thinking in the singular tense} and time to nurse the frostbite.
It’s starting to sink in,
the fact that I’ve lost a part of me;
I must learn to keep “it” apart from me.
I was never apart from you
you will NEVER again be a part of me
~~~~~~~~~~
They said that since she (anorexia) wasn’t ever physically real; letting go shouldn’t ache, as much as it does right now, but it does.
I feel like a kid who has just been told that Santa isn‘t real. Every year after that, it stings, the fantasy is forever gone.
It was time to move on and start believing in something else….
“She was real.” I pronounce each word with so much force and venom that even I am surprised.
I am left alone, given time to come up with an apology; but I can’t because I start to stare at the gaps, the hallow indents of flesh missing from my frame; evidence of her existence.
They walked away and I heard them talking. “it’s just a phase… she‘ll learn to forget.”
But I don’t and I can’t, because if she wasn’t real, if she wasn’t a part of me, then I am not real.
I heard her, every night, when everything was still and empty. Her low murmurs let me know that it was safe to let go. I felt her too, after I was forced to eat and it hurt to much to be still.
You can have my naive nature. My belief in the Easter bunny, tooth fairy, magical leprechauns, and any remanding shred of childlike innocence that allowed me to believe in something that I can’t see; but not this!
She was real!!!
I still hear her, when you see me pensive, lost in thought. I try not to listen because I promised I wouldn‘t.
When you see me defeated, curl up and wrapped in blankets, after meal time; it’s her voice that lulls me to sleep.
You bend down to kiss me and wonder out loud how I could feel so cold when it’s 85 degrees. I am paralyzed with one thought, “she’s still right here..Why can’t you feel her?”
~~~~
I said good-bye too hastily, her imprint on my skin, still lingers.
Her voice still roams around in my head.
I need to feel her exit, I need that feeling back because the bigger I get, the bigger “it” gets… So please.…please, let me just have this one illogical nuance; let me keep this, She was real.
If she wasn’t real; then, this is something that exists only in my head; self-created and self-serving.
Something that I can turn on and off, at will, or something I control.
I know, that’s a reality that I must face one day but not today.
You see, if she is real then, I am allowed time to grieve, time to adjust {to thinking in the singular tense} and time to nurse the frostbite.
Stick Figure
The Past:
Draw a picture of my stick-figure and give it a name.
Take your pick because for the life of me, I don‘t know who I am today.
I use to go by Ana but you can't live life denying your nature.
Things have a way of catching up on you.
I thought I would emerge, unmarred after my Ana years wore thin but I didn’t.
The strain permanently chipped away at my psyche, my sunken cheeks never really filled out, and the edges still bend and fade as I swear, “I’m ok.”
They don’t believe me anymore as I look up at them from the floor.
During recovery, the imposed need to create and forget awaken a feeling of resentment; towards those trying to help me and towards myself because Ana had a firm grip.
Everything became amplified with her thoughts and actions.
Until one day, my mothers words, in Spanish, “Eres Mia” (you’re mine) gave way to my new identity.
“Eres Mia.” (you’re mine) I was hers, under her watchful eye, until I could be trusted with my health.
I laughed wildly, at the double meaning, that was lost on the differences between our language.
She gave me the most eeriest of looks, as I laughed and cried hysterically because it was at that point that I realized that I wasn't anorexic but bulimic as well.
Present tense:
I have become every cliché that one associates with being eating disordered.
She never made a fuss. She is a people pleaser. She is withdrawn. She wants to be small. She like to have everything just “so.” She’s watches the Food Network non-stop and has memorized the calorie content of everything in the house.
Did I forget something?
The problem is that I can’t please them without giving up my control.
I can’t be of average or above intelligence if I think that this cookie is going to make me fat.
Everything about this disease is a contradiction.
The reality is that I don’t have anything under control.
I’ve just been using different means to deal with the anxiety of eating.
The turning point:
I locked the door, turned on the radio, faucet, shower, exhaust fan and tied up my hair in a pony-tail as I held my toothbrush in my hand.
My eyes got teary-eyed and my four fingers ached after being jammed into the tiny crevice.
I splashed water on my face and looked at myself in the mirror.
A huge smile formed on the corners of my mouth because the tears streaming down my face weren’t of regret.
Wow! my eyeliner really is water-proof.
There was a time when I felt a pang of regret.
When it took days to recover from a setback. Then I remind myself, “You can’t have a setback when you’ve never said that you were ready to let go.”
So this is it. After almost 10 years of living with this disease, I am ready to say farewell to it. I haven’t hit bottom, or am being rushed to the hospital.
The past, present and future (prospects) collide and I have simply realized; If nothing changes, nothing changes.
This is my official goodbye letter to anorexia and bulimia.
I know they do not exist, in the flesh, or occupy a physical space in me but it doesn’t make them any less real.
I do not intend to wait around for an apology or explanation from them.
Therefore, this is not written in the way one would fashion a letter. Instead, I deliver it to you, the almost 2,000 people who have visited my page in the past couple of months.
"There is never a sudden revelation, a complete and tidy explanation for why it happened, or why it ends, or why or who you are. You want one and I want one, but there isn't one. It comes in bits and pieces, and you stitch them together wherever they fit, and when you are done you hold yourself up, and still there are holes and you are a rag doll, invented, imperfect. And yet you are all that you have, so you must be enough. There is no other way.” -Wasted, Marya Hornbacher
Draw a picture of my stick-figure and give it a name.
Take your pick because for the life of me, I don‘t know who I am today.
I use to go by Ana but you can't live life denying your nature.
Things have a way of catching up on you.
I thought I would emerge, unmarred after my Ana years wore thin but I didn’t.
The strain permanently chipped away at my psyche, my sunken cheeks never really filled out, and the edges still bend and fade as I swear, “I’m ok.”
They don’t believe me anymore as I look up at them from the floor.
During recovery, the imposed need to create and forget awaken a feeling of resentment; towards those trying to help me and towards myself because Ana had a firm grip.
Everything became amplified with her thoughts and actions.
Until one day, my mothers words, in Spanish, “Eres Mia” (you’re mine) gave way to my new identity.
“Eres Mia.” (you’re mine) I was hers, under her watchful eye, until I could be trusted with my health.
I laughed wildly, at the double meaning, that was lost on the differences between our language.
She gave me the most eeriest of looks, as I laughed and cried hysterically because it was at that point that I realized that I wasn't anorexic but bulimic as well.
Present tense:
I have become every cliché that one associates with being eating disordered.
She never made a fuss. She is a people pleaser. She is withdrawn. She wants to be small. She like to have everything just “so.” She’s watches the Food Network non-stop and has memorized the calorie content of everything in the house.
Did I forget something?
The problem is that I can’t please them without giving up my control.
I can’t be of average or above intelligence if I think that this cookie is going to make me fat.
Everything about this disease is a contradiction.
The reality is that I don’t have anything under control.
I’ve just been using different means to deal with the anxiety of eating.
The turning point:
I locked the door, turned on the radio, faucet, shower, exhaust fan and tied up my hair in a pony-tail as I held my toothbrush in my hand.
My eyes got teary-eyed and my four fingers ached after being jammed into the tiny crevice.
I splashed water on my face and looked at myself in the mirror.
A huge smile formed on the corners of my mouth because the tears streaming down my face weren’t of regret.
Wow! my eyeliner really is water-proof.
******
When it took days to recover from a setback. Then I remind myself, “You can’t have a setback when you’ve never said that you were ready to let go.”
*******
The past, present and future (prospects) collide and I have simply realized; If nothing changes, nothing changes.
This is my official goodbye letter to anorexia and bulimia.
I know they do not exist, in the flesh, or occupy a physical space in me but it doesn’t make them any less real.
I do not intend to wait around for an apology or explanation from them.
Therefore, this is not written in the way one would fashion a letter. Instead, I deliver it to you, the almost 2,000 people who have visited my page in the past couple of months.
"There is never a sudden revelation, a complete and tidy explanation for why it happened, or why it ends, or why or who you are. You want one and I want one, but there isn't one. It comes in bits and pieces, and you stitch them together wherever they fit, and when you are done you hold yourself up, and still there are holes and you are a rag doll, invented, imperfect. And yet you are all that you have, so you must be enough. There is no other way.” -Wasted, Marya Hornbacher
A Bullet of Linguistics
I am sorry, I can't begin to form the words that will bid a final farewell to this disorder.
A starved mind can't fire a bullet of linguistics.
The delivery must be spoken with raw passion and emotion.
Afterwards, there has to be a willingness to admit your faults and amend your ways.
There is still a part of me that is not ready to turn from this, that mutes my thoughts, stammers my voice, and tells me less is more.
That part of me, is getting smaller and smaller as I work on recovery.
I know that I’ll never rid myself of these thoughts completely until I turn my back on this.
I am waiting…what is it going to take to stir those recovery thoughts within me?
Will it be the first time I’m rushed to the ER or the first time I am admitted to Recovery ward?
The anorexic thoughts have held a permanent residency in me for so long that I don’t which are mine underneath it all.
When did I become this way?
Was it a conscious decision, a genetic predisposition, or a series of split decisions?
Did I object, contemplate the outcome, or just pursue aimlessly?
For now, it has to be enough to work on physically getting stronger by eating my meals.
The devotion to recovery will hopefully come soon.
PS. sorry for all the weird titles. I've been listening to The Mars Volta!!
Cicatriz
The unspoken words between my eating disorder and I weigh heavily on my mind today.
I have to yet to say, I don't need it or expressed my anger over the lost years and loved ones.
Worst yet, I have been putting off saying good-bye.
Secretly, I was hoping that I could hold on to my eating disorder in some form or another.
It brings tears to my eyes because I can't remember what it's like to live without the Ed.
I am trying to focus on a memory but my Ed has always been there lurking in the background.
The behaviors are so ingrained; the way I sit, the way my hand wraps around my wrist when I get nervous, the way I keep everyone at a distance, the excuses, and the broken promises.
The truth is that I don't know who I am without my Ed.
I don't know if I am strong enough to fight this.
That thought terrifies the most.
At first, my Ed was just about losing weight and trying to be perfect.
Now it's all about numbing everything going around me.
Starvation and achieving the effect, keep my mind from worrying about the future and thinking about the past.
The effects of years starvation don't go away with a couple of meals.
The most ill thoughts still enter my mind, my body aches, and the insomnia and anemia make it hard to focus.
I want just a taste...a taste of life without an Ed.
I am tired of speaking in codes and having the weight of the unspoken words linger in my head.
I think it's time to write my good-bye letter to my Ed.
Say You Don't Need It
My thoughts are scattered today.
It's in the later state of mind that I write these words.
I know it seems odd to put my hope in something that I’ve never experienced.
It’s that uncertainty that keeps me clutching to this disorder today.
I’ve been waiting, for so long, for these anorexic thoughts to be over.
The realization that these disordered thoughts don’t magically go away with recovery, keeps me living in the grey.
I always thought I’d reach out for recovery when I reached my lowest weight.
I thought it would be dramatic like in the movies. That I lay crying, pounding my hands into the pillow until I was exhausted and then proclaim my desire to be free from this disorder. (.. sorry, I’ve watched too many Lifetime movies.)
Recovery is an active process and for the past couple of months, I have not been actively wanting to recover.
I only eat because I know that I won’t hold on to it.
I know that you don’t understand but it doesn’t taste like anything to me at all.
I’m full after a couple of bites and I stop as soon as you turn around.
I don’t talk while I eat because I’m forcing the bites.
My newfound desire to cook is just an act.
You see this is where life is not like the movies. In the movies, there is always a scene where the character has a major breakdown and is forced to recover.
The downfall didn't happen all at once; maybe it happened when I flunked out of school, or when I clutched my hand over my heart thinking that I was dying.
Maybe it happened when I lost chunks of my hair and my nails turned purple.
Maybe I am at my lowest because I've been lying to everyone about wanting recovery when there is a part of me that is not ready to give this up.
They multiply with each stroke of the key and bounce between wanting recovery and needing this disorder.
It's in the later state of mind that I write these words.
I know it seems odd to put my hope in something that I’ve never experienced.
It’s that uncertainty that keeps me clutching to this disorder today.
I’ve been waiting, for so long, for these anorexic thoughts to be over.
The realization that these disordered thoughts don’t magically go away with recovery, keeps me living in the grey.
I always thought I’d reach out for recovery when I reached my lowest weight.
I thought it would be dramatic like in the movies. That I lay crying, pounding my hands into the pillow until I was exhausted and then proclaim my desire to be free from this disorder. (.. sorry, I’ve watched too many Lifetime movies.)
Recovery is an active process and for the past couple of months, I have not been actively wanting to recover.
I only eat because I know that I won’t hold on to it.
I know that you don’t understand but it doesn’t taste like anything to me at all.
I’m full after a couple of bites and I stop as soon as you turn around.
I don’t talk while I eat because I’m forcing the bites.
My newfound desire to cook is just an act.
You see this is where life is not like the movies. In the movies, there is always a scene where the character has a major breakdown and is forced to recover.
The downfall didn't happen all at once; maybe it happened when I flunked out of school, or when I clutched my hand over my heart thinking that I was dying.
Maybe it happened when I lost chunks of my hair and my nails turned purple.
Maybe I am at my lowest because I've been lying to everyone about wanting recovery when there is a part of me that is not ready to give this up.
Stomach the Lie
For years, I couldn’t go to sleep unless I felt empty.
I would fast for hours and pushed myself each week to go longer without food.
My mom tried to stop me once.
She was so mad and desperate and said, “I’m not going to eat until you eat!”
I sat at the kitchen table feeling so helpless and angry.
I watched her add each ingredient to the pan and had my first bulimic thought.
“If it could be added then it can be taken away.”
“She could make me eat but she couldn’t make me keep it down.”
She thought she cured me and I thought I found a solution.
Anorexia was too stubborn for her liking but bulimia could be hidden from her view.
For years we’ve lived with this comforting lie.
I ate enough to please her and on days when I couldn’t stomach the lie. I just sat at the kitchen table, furiously thinking of other ways to get rid of it.
It’s in the tip of my tongue; a silent protest.
A voice that I know will never materialize because I know that she’ll blame herself again.
There are pieces of me, words and thoughts, that I hold back.
Sometimes, no matter how hard I try, they seep out:
“I’m struggling these days…….”
You need me to be better, and try to fix things:
Just eat with your intuition.
(My intuition tells me less is more.)
Eat more smaller meals.
(I can’t, I’ve lost my appetite and it hurts to eat.)
You’re not fat!
(You’re right, I’m not fat, I am not skinny, I must be obese!)
Just stop thinking this way! Why are you doing this? (Because I don’t control this. It can’t be fixed with a phrase or with your guilt trip. I just need you to listen)
I would fast for hours and pushed myself each week to go longer without food.
My mom tried to stop me once.
She was so mad and desperate and said, “I’m not going to eat until you eat!”
I sat at the kitchen table feeling so helpless and angry.
I watched her add each ingredient to the pan and had my first bulimic thought.
“If it could be added then it can be taken away.”
“She could make me eat but she couldn’t make me keep it down.”
She thought she cured me and I thought I found a solution.
Anorexia was too stubborn for her liking but bulimia could be hidden from her view.
For years we’ve lived with this comforting lie.
I ate enough to please her and on days when I couldn’t stomach the lie. I just sat at the kitchen table, furiously thinking of other ways to get rid of it.
It’s in the tip of my tongue; a silent protest.
A voice that I know will never materialize because I know that she’ll blame herself again.
There are pieces of me, words and thoughts, that I hold back.
Sometimes, no matter how hard I try, they seep out:
“I’m struggling these days…….”
You need me to be better, and try to fix things:
Just eat with your intuition.
(My intuition tells me less is more.)
Eat more smaller meals.
(I can’t, I’ve lost my appetite and it hurts to eat.)
You’re not fat!
(You’re right, I’m not fat, I am not skinny, I must be obese!)
Just stop thinking this way! Why are you doing this? (Because I don’t control this. It can’t be fixed with a phrase or with your guilt trip. I just need you to listen)
*****
We are working on talking and listening during meal time more. Sometimes it’s quiet and tense and other times I just eat and listen.
Wasted
Last summer, I was working on my Masters Program.
I was sitting in class shaking my legs up and down trying to burn calories.
My nails were turning purple and my hands were trembling.
I was at my lowest weight and I was fixated on getting lower.
I couldn’t concentrate because I had not reached my goal so I just walked out of class.
It wasn't a conscious decision to quit school.
"I had a routine, I was in control."
Instead of going to class, I walked around the campus determined to go faster and longer than the day before.
I would only pause when I felt my breath short and my limbs grow limp.
No matter where I was, I pushed myself and walked to the library, up the three flight of stairs, to the eating disorders section.
That summer, I read almost every book on the subject. "I wasn't like them." I wasn't to the point of being Wasted, ready to be Gaining or trapped in a Golden Cage.
Summer ended and it didn't face me that I dressed in layers because I couldn't keep warm or that I had flunked out.
I walked out in the middle of the presentation. I walked around the campus for hours.
This time it was different than before. I wasn’t thinking about burning calories or having any ed related thoughts.
I had flunked out.
It was like the veil had been lifted from my eyes. I went into an empty stall and just cried.
I had reached bottom and somehow I had pushed everything that happened last summer to the furthest corner of my mind.
I was sitting in class shaking my legs up and down trying to burn calories.
My nails were turning purple and my hands were trembling.
I was at my lowest weight and I was fixated on getting lower.
I couldn’t concentrate because I had not reached my goal so I just walked out of class.
It wasn't a conscious decision to quit school.
"I had a routine, I was in control."
Instead of going to class, I walked around the campus determined to go faster and longer than the day before.
I would only pause when I felt my breath short and my limbs grow limp.
No matter where I was, I pushed myself and walked to the library, up the three flight of stairs, to the eating disorders section.
That summer, I read almost every book on the subject. "I wasn't like them." I wasn't to the point of being Wasted, ready to be Gaining or trapped in a Golden Cage.
Summer ended and it didn't face me that I dressed in layers because I couldn't keep warm or that I had flunked out.
“I had lost weight and that's all that matter.”
Months later, my boss sent me to an all day seminar. I sat in the college auditorium and started remembering about last summer.
I walked out in the middle of the presentation. I walked around the campus for hours.
This time it was different than before. I wasn’t thinking about burning calories or having any ed related thoughts.
I had flunked out.
It was like the veil had been lifted from my eyes. I went into an empty stall and just cried.
I had reached bottom and somehow I had pushed everything that happened last summer to the furthest corner of my mind.
Turn from This
I've seen images and read words about this disorder that took some getting used to.
At first, I would turn away in disgust or tune them out.
Now, years later, few images and words stir my thoughts.
It's not that I become indifferent, It's just that I've always thought I would be able to turn away from this disease when I reached my goal.
In the back of my mind, I knew that this way of thinking was wrong and I figured I would start thinking more rationally when I reached my goal weight.
At first, I tried to deny that I thought this way. “I’m not like them. I’m not. I can stop, I just haven’t gotten there yet.”
Where is there?
“No, there isn’t a physical place. It’s a feeling. It’s knowing that you are taking up less space. It’s being perfect.”
When will you get there?
“I use to think, I would get there when I would feel happiness. When they said I was thin or seeing a size zero reflection in the mirror.”
“But now I’m not so sure.”
“Maybe, there is not what I feel or see, maybe it’s in a number. 90, looks like a perfect number.”
What will you do when you get there?
“I don’t know, I’ve spent all this time trying to get there.”
Won’t you have to spend all your time maintaining 90? “You’re right, sometimes, I can be so dense. I should set my goal to 85; that way I’ll have a 5 pound buffer.” No, that’s not what I meant.
Writing all that put things into perspective. Those thoughts are not my own.
They were never mine.
It's the disorderd mind giving excuses and justifying my actions. That's the first of the 12 steps.
Admitting it, knowing that it's true and knowing that you have to change.
At first, I would turn away in disgust or tune them out.
Now, years later, few images and words stir my thoughts.
It's not that I become indifferent, It's just that I've always thought I would be able to turn away from this disease when I reached my goal.
In the back of my mind, I knew that this way of thinking was wrong and I figured I would start thinking more rationally when I reached my goal weight.
At first, I tried to deny that I thought this way. “I’m not like them. I’m not. I can stop, I just haven’t gotten there yet.”
Where is there?
“No, there isn’t a physical place. It’s a feeling. It’s knowing that you are taking up less space. It’s being perfect.”
When will you get there?
“I use to think, I would get there when I would feel happiness. When they said I was thin or seeing a size zero reflection in the mirror.”
“But now I’m not so sure.”
“Maybe, there is not what I feel or see, maybe it’s in a number. 90, looks like a perfect number.”
What will you do when you get there?
“I don’t know, I’ve spent all this time trying to get there.”
Won’t you have to spend all your time maintaining 90? “You’re right, sometimes, I can be so dense. I should set my goal to 85; that way I’ll have a 5 pound buffer.” No, that’s not what I meant.
******
Writing all that put things into perspective. Those thoughts are not my own.
They were never mine.
It's the disorderd mind giving excuses and justifying my actions. That's the first of the 12 steps.
Admitting it, knowing that it's true and knowing that you have to change.
********
I've been doing better, I been eating more and I have tried not to weigh myself. I even had breakfast today.
Put Spoon to Mouth and Repeat?
It’s not the act of eating that pulls and tugs at my psyche.
No, it’s not that simple.
No, it’s not that simple.
Put spoon to mouth and repeat, that’s the easy part, right?
My mother will proudly tell you that when I was a baby, I would not allow her spoon feed me. I hadn’t learned to hold the spoon so I would clumsily grab at the food with my fingers. Most of it would not enter my mouth.
Sometimes, she says, when I didn’t want to eat, I would let it fall in the pockets of my bib.
Perhaps, my need to control my meals at such a young age was a sign, a foreshadowing, of the struggle up ahead.
After all, I wanted her tie my shoes and do all the things that I still had not learned to do, but feeding myself, no matter how miserably I failed, was something that I wanted and needed to do for myself.
********
It’s the before and after, of eating, that tears tiny little holes in my sanity.
The before:
I put it off, until my stomach gnaws my insides, and I end up wishing that the feeling would fade.
It doesn’t and that tiny little voice, my subconscious, the part that the somehow holds resilience to this disease- whispers words of reasons.
Eat, eat why can’t you just eat?
The anxiety rushes through my body and sends chills through every pore.
A hyperawareness, that stress is imminent. What and how much? Too many decisions to make, leave me aching for words that I spoke so many years ago- “No, I can do it by myself, I am a big girl.”
Hunger leaves and I desperately want to cling to my anorexia.
I stare at the plate with absolutely no desire to consume it but I know that I must. The next meal is hours away and I can’t stomach the liquid replacement.
Eating becomes mechanical.
Is never about taste and textures or cravings and nutrients.
Eating, the simplest of pleasures, the most innate of instinct gone.
The after:
There is always an overwhelming rush of coldness, guilt and sleep, that quickly weighs me down.
Despite the fact, that I have just woken up, my body grows limp and I need to close my eyes.
A physical and mental shut down.
*****
It’s in the twilight of the morning, when I am neither hungry or full, when the cognitive and physical have yet to dual, where my hope lies.
Maybe it was just a dream gone awry, a terrible nightmare… but reality sets in when I feel so physically tired that I can’t will myself to get out of bed.
It’s not the act of eating that leaves me immobile; afraid that the tiny thread that tethers and keeps me sane and functioning, snaps.
It’s the extremes, between the emptiness and satiety, the wanting and denying, the amplification of thoughts and suppressed actions.
The acceptance and disappointment, that maybe I was never in control and that I can't do this by myself.
-------
I got down to 91, the lowest I think i've been, i've been eating and sleeping more these past couple of days; hopefully I can get back on track.
Anorexic Thoughts
The weeks of living with the opposite extreme (bulimia) of this disorder (anorexia) have passed.
I am a novice of having one disorder too many so I sit here trying to make sense of it.
However, what rational thought could be uttered after the two extremes have played tug-of-war with your sanity?
**** It was months, before I felt my mother’s eyes bore into mine demanding to know why and how I lost fifty pounds.
Years have passed and I can’t form the sentences. It didn’t happen fast and it’s not something that I can turn on and off like the flipping of a light switch.
No, the anorexic thoughts slowly crept in; swelling to find an occupancy in the hallow spaces.
Every now and then, my eyes jar when I catch a glimpse of my image. Somehow, I can’t focus and the indents and sharp lines fade.
The behaviors, I guess crept in too. Now, I don’t remember how to be any other way.
I can’t eat without anxiety, my hand wraps around my wrist, my eyes scan the numbers and the excuses spill out of my mouth by instinct.
The hunger and the craving for life crept away too. Less became more and a singular thought, emptiness, filled my mind.
Every part of me, was bent on deceiving everyone and keeping this for me. I plastered a smile as I locked myself in my room and exercised for hours.
It was in this state, that I was cornered into thoughts of recovery. I fully didn’t or couldn’t see the severity of the situation but I feared the beginning of something new.
A nagging feeling deep down at the pit of my stomach, the fear of losing control, brought about a panicked state of hunger.
I couldn’t silence the thoughts or shake the guilt so I ate to numb the pain. To everyone around, I seemed to be getting better.
I had an appetite and I was filling my plate.
I ate but I wouldn’t let myself enjoy the taste or let it weigh me down.
The anorexic thoughts of needing to feel empty collided with my newfound anxiety to eat and recover.
This viscous cycle has passed and I honestly don’t know how I snapped out of it.
The panic of losing control and the urgency to eat and get better have left.
The anorexic thoughts are back and every bite is yet again forced.
The rational part of my mind, that one that keeps me above 92, is the one I am clinging on to. It isn’t recovery just yet.
I just can’t imagine living without the these thoughts, and being fully recovered.
I fear that this disorder is like having the security of speaking my first language when words fail me.
I try to silence (anorexia) the words that so easily form at my mouth and the restrain (recovery) is a taste that I have yet to acquire.
Years ahead, when I have forgotten my mother tongue, in a moment of weakness or a lapse of judgment, I fear that I may utter words that jar at their ears.
I walked in circles
Day turned into night
but still the shadow grew
casting a parting of paths.
I stalk the pavement
Longing for familiar ground
But the shadows multiply
casting a bending of lines
I am a novice of having one disorder too many so I sit here trying to make sense of it.
However, what rational thought could be uttered after the two extremes have played tug-of-war with your sanity?
**** It was months, before I felt my mother’s eyes bore into mine demanding to know why and how I lost fifty pounds.
Years have passed and I can’t form the sentences. It didn’t happen fast and it’s not something that I can turn on and off like the flipping of a light switch.
No, the anorexic thoughts slowly crept in; swelling to find an occupancy in the hallow spaces.
Every now and then, my eyes jar when I catch a glimpse of my image. Somehow, I can’t focus and the indents and sharp lines fade.
The behaviors, I guess crept in too. Now, I don’t remember how to be any other way.
I can’t eat without anxiety, my hand wraps around my wrist, my eyes scan the numbers and the excuses spill out of my mouth by instinct.
The hunger and the craving for life crept away too. Less became more and a singular thought, emptiness, filled my mind.
Every part of me, was bent on deceiving everyone and keeping this for me. I plastered a smile as I locked myself in my room and exercised for hours.
It was in this state, that I was cornered into thoughts of recovery. I fully didn’t or couldn’t see the severity of the situation but I feared the beginning of something new.
A nagging feeling deep down at the pit of my stomach, the fear of losing control, brought about a panicked state of hunger.
I couldn’t silence the thoughts or shake the guilt so I ate to numb the pain. To everyone around, I seemed to be getting better.
I had an appetite and I was filling my plate.
I ate but I wouldn’t let myself enjoy the taste or let it weigh me down.
The anorexic thoughts of needing to feel empty collided with my newfound anxiety to eat and recover.
This viscous cycle has passed and I honestly don’t know how I snapped out of it.
The panic of losing control and the urgency to eat and get better have left.
The anorexic thoughts are back and every bite is yet again forced.
The rational part of my mind, that one that keeps me above 92, is the one I am clinging on to. It isn’t recovery just yet.
I just can’t imagine living without the these thoughts, and being fully recovered.
I fear that this disorder is like having the security of speaking my first language when words fail me.
I try to silence (anorexia) the words that so easily form at my mouth and the restrain (recovery) is a taste that I have yet to acquire.
Years ahead, when I have forgotten my mother tongue, in a moment of weakness or a lapse of judgment, I fear that I may utter words that jar at their ears.
I walked in circles
Day turned into night
but still the shadow grew
casting a parting of paths.
I stalk the pavement
Longing for familiar ground
But the shadows multiply
casting a bending of lines
Anorexic Tendencies
I've been reading that most people with eating disorders go back and forth between anorexia and bulimia.
Until now, I've always had anorexic tendencies but now I'm not so sure.
I remember at the very beginning fasting for days, exercising until dawn, and always lying about what I ate.
I started taking diet pills and energy powders months later. Exercise was the only way I got rid of the food I ate.
Last May, I was on the elliptical after work and I felt my heart beat so loud. I thought I was going to have a heart attack.
I stopped and looked at my friend. I told her I didn't feel so well and I have not gotten on that machine again.
I knew that I couldn't keep taking the diet pills, and exercising on an empty stomach.
That was the day, I quit using exercise to lose weight.
Since I couldn't exercise, I started to use laxatives in addition to diet pills and restriction.
I was going to wait until the summer to go into treatment but now I think I might have to go in earlier.
Something happened this week. I've had these urges, these thoughts to binge.
Until now, I've never known how it feels to binge or the anxiety that makes a person binge.
It feels like a fire in your heart, or a string that's nagging at your insides.
It's like all the hunger that you've denied in the past has built up and is demanding to be fed. It's the scariest feeling in the world; to feel your heart pound through your chest and feel your skin grow warm.
There is only one thought in your head, the one that's there at both extremes; the exit.
Neither extremes (anorexia/bulimia) are where I should be but this fire feels so foreign.
Every part of me it telling me to go back to my anorexia.
I am sitting here, with all of the dinner and dessert gone from my plate.
There's nothing left to consume and i'm craving for thoughts that I can't get back.
I'm going in circles and I can't find the straight line to recovery.
I was pumping gas today and I saw a homeless drug addict. She was clutching her bottle and relief was painted on her face. I didn't look at her with pity like the others around me. I saw myself reflected through her skin and bones, frail hair and sunken cheeks.
For the life of me, I can't think of what makes me different from her.
Break the Fast
I set my goal to eat breakfast last month, and it took a couple of weeks but I ate it twice last week.
Last Thursday, I ate it. Every part of me knew that it was something foreign.
The Ed thoughts durning lunch and dinner were pounding loud in my ears but I ate.
At night, the thoughts grew too loud, and the guilt over eating three meals set in and the Ed behaviors took over.
Friday morning, I was determined to eat breakfast without having everything spiral down.
I ate breakfast and lunch.
Then, my friend invited me to dinner and a movies.
Eating out at restaurant is pretty much the scariest thing next to eating breakfast for me.
She saw me hesitate and I saw the hurt in her eyes. I ate dinner and the snack durning the movie. I can't remember what we talked about or what the movie was about because my mind was focused on one thing.
The exit, the release.
On Saturday, I was so tired. The body goes through so much wear and tear with this disease. I slept in through breakfast and lunch.
I ate dinner with my family. I was so tired and I sat at the table, like a ragdoll. I ate what was served and went back to sleep.
It's Sunday morning, and breakfast was waiting for me.
Two eggs and two pancakes.
A sharp contrast to the lines and blurred colors, i'm used to seeing.
"There is only one of me!" I argued.
"That's why we're doing this!
"There is only one of you, and we don't want to lose you!"
I ate.
"The other part of you, the one that weighed 55 pounds more, the one that wouldn't make us cry, is already gone and I don't know why it's so hard to get her back."
It's not the eating that is hard. It's the feeling afterwards that hurts and makes you want to crawl out of your skin.
It's been about two hours since I ate breakfast, and I'm still anxious.
Last Thursday, I ate it. Every part of me knew that it was something foreign.
The Ed thoughts durning lunch and dinner were pounding loud in my ears but I ate.
At night, the thoughts grew too loud, and the guilt over eating three meals set in and the Ed behaviors took over.
Friday morning, I was determined to eat breakfast without having everything spiral down.
I ate breakfast and lunch.
Then, my friend invited me to dinner and a movies.
Eating out at restaurant is pretty much the scariest thing next to eating breakfast for me.
She saw me hesitate and I saw the hurt in her eyes. I ate dinner and the snack durning the movie. I can't remember what we talked about or what the movie was about because my mind was focused on one thing.
The exit, the release.
On Saturday, I was so tired. The body goes through so much wear and tear with this disease. I slept in through breakfast and lunch.
I ate dinner with my family. I was so tired and I sat at the table, like a ragdoll. I ate what was served and went back to sleep.
It's Sunday morning, and breakfast was waiting for me.
Two eggs and two pancakes.
A sharp contrast to the lines and blurred colors, i'm used to seeing.
"There is only one of me!" I argued.
"That's why we're doing this!
"There is only one of you, and we don't want to lose you!"
I ate.
"The other part of you, the one that weighed 55 pounds more, the one that wouldn't make us cry, is already gone and I don't know why it's so hard to get her back."
It's not the eating that is hard. It's the feeling afterwards that hurts and makes you want to crawl out of your skin.
It's been about two hours since I ate breakfast, and I'm still anxious.
Cereal
Friday:
Two days ago, I got an email from ANAD -National Association for Anorexia Nervosa.
There are no treatment options nearby.
The only option is online treatment with an therapist who specializes in ED's.
It's only for people who have a commitment to recover.
Recover
Cover
er?.
What, cover up the Ed, and have it dormant inside me waiting for a moment of weakness?
I don't know if am ready?
Saturday:
Awhile back, I fasted on weekends. It took several months to break that habit.
I woke up anxious over the possibility of recovery.
When I am anxious, I turn to the ED to block any thinking that causes me to be anxious.
I focus on that feeling of hunger and denying it. I made a step to try to recovery, I didn't take any laxatives, diet pills or dieter's tea today. I have been using them for more than one year and a half.
Every part of me, wanted to go on a fast because I wouldn't be able to get rid of it.
With my familys' help, I ate lunch. I couldn't eat breakfast or dinner.
But I did it.
I ate and didn't get rid of it!
Sunday:
I remember waking up an starring at the sky and getting lost in it's beauty.
Now, I am starring at this uneaten bowl of cereal. I was suppose to eat it for dinner yesterday.
There's another one next to it, my breakfast.
I am getting lost in thought, thinking about today.
There is going to be a family dinner that I can't get out of.... That I can't get rid of.
Two days ago, I got an email from ANAD -National Association for Anorexia Nervosa.
There are no treatment options nearby.
The only option is online treatment with an therapist who specializes in ED's.
It's only for people who have a commitment to recover.
Recover
Cover
er?.
What, cover up the Ed, and have it dormant inside me waiting for a moment of weakness?
I don't know if am ready?
Saturday:
Awhile back, I fasted on weekends. It took several months to break that habit.
I woke up anxious over the possibility of recovery.
When I am anxious, I turn to the ED to block any thinking that causes me to be anxious.
I focus on that feeling of hunger and denying it. I made a step to try to recovery, I didn't take any laxatives, diet pills or dieter's tea today. I have been using them for more than one year and a half.
Every part of me, wanted to go on a fast because I wouldn't be able to get rid of it.
With my familys' help, I ate lunch. I couldn't eat breakfast or dinner.
But I did it.
I ate and didn't get rid of it!
Sunday:
I remember waking up an starring at the sky and getting lost in it's beauty.
Now, I am starring at this uneaten bowl of cereal. I was suppose to eat it for dinner yesterday.
There's another one next to it, my breakfast.
I am getting lost in thought, thinking about today.
There is going to be a family dinner that I can't get out of.... That I can't get rid of.
Breakfast
Today was the big day.
I was going to eat breakfast. Not because I was being watched or forced but it was something that I was going to do, on my own, for my health.
I woke up and stepped on the scale and I lost a pound. 94. Two pounds away from my goal, two pounds away from visiting the doctor again. My mind started racing.
My mom said, "Good morning, skinny!" I mumbled something and drove to work.
I don't fully see what she sees. I catch glimpses of myself and I know that I'm too thin but then the image gets distorted again.
It's that distorted image that weighs me down and keeps me from eating breakfast.
At work, I had time to eat breakfast but I didn't. The compliments and the weight loss fed this disease.
I eat the same thing almost everyday. For lunch, I usually eat 1 slice of ham on 2 whole wheat slices of bread. For dinner, I eat to 4 ounces of grilled chicken with two servings of steamed veggies and 1 fat free yogurt for dessert.
To me that's a safe meal plan and anything that's not on that list is a binge. Once I'm on that mindset, everything goes spiraling down.
The 'eating disordered behaviors' take over and I find myself exercising, taking laxatives or diet pills. I am going to try again, and again until I get it right.
It took me about half a year to feel comfortable eating the food in my lunch and dinner meal plan without feeling too guilty or anxious. It is still a struggle and there are days that are better than others.
I was going to eat breakfast. Not because I was being watched or forced but it was something that I was going to do, on my own, for my health.
I woke up and stepped on the scale and I lost a pound. 94. Two pounds away from my goal, two pounds away from visiting the doctor again. My mind started racing.
My mom said, "Good morning, skinny!" I mumbled something and drove to work.
I don't fully see what she sees. I catch glimpses of myself and I know that I'm too thin but then the image gets distorted again.
It's that distorted image that weighs me down and keeps me from eating breakfast.
At work, I had time to eat breakfast but I didn't. The compliments and the weight loss fed this disease.
I eat the same thing almost everyday. For lunch, I usually eat 1 slice of ham on 2 whole wheat slices of bread. For dinner, I eat to 4 ounces of grilled chicken with two servings of steamed veggies and 1 fat free yogurt for dessert.
To me that's a safe meal plan and anything that's not on that list is a binge. Once I'm on that mindset, everything goes spiraling down.
The 'eating disordered behaviors' take over and I find myself exercising, taking laxatives or diet pills. I am going to try again, and again until I get it right.
It took me about half a year to feel comfortable eating the food in my lunch and dinner meal plan without feeling too guilty or anxious. It is still a struggle and there are days that are better than others.
Tea
At 92 pounds my hair started falling off in patches and I got physically sick for two weeks. I went to the doctor but I used ankle weights to be above the BMI of 17.5.
He gave me medicine and sent me on my way. I asked, "will this make me gain weight?" he laughed but I wasn't joking.
I don't want to get that low again.
But, there is a part of me that is thinking, At 93 pounds everything was fine. The medicine did make me gain 3 pounds. I had to take it with meals and now I weigh 95 pounds.
Something happened those two weeks I was taking the medicine...I ate.
I ATE BREAKFAST and stopped taking the diet pills.. I never ate breakfast-the thought terrrifies me. I know it does not make sense but when I eat breakfast, I just feel so out of control- It's not part of my routine and I end up not sticking to my meal plan the rest of the day.
This week I tried to eat breakfast-I couldn't. I drank coffee-the creamer had 40 calories!
My mind couldn't get past the number. I belong to a recovery group for eating disorders and they suggested starting with a meal supplement drink. It's 150 calories!!!
I know I need to drink it because I don't want to get sick again. But every part of me is anxious at 95.
I just want to restrict, restrict, restrict until I get down to 93.
I've had this for so long, that it really doesn't phase my family when I drink my dieters tea or exercise until all hours. They tried so hard at the beginning. For the past couple of years, I get to a really low weight until I get sick then they make me gain a couple pounds.
After a couple of weeks, I work on getting low until I get sick again. The cycle never stops.
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