I know many people don't know this about me, but once upon a time, I had an eating disorder. Many people in my family don't know, many of my college roommates don't know, but I did.
I wasn't bulimic because I wasn't a binger. I wasn't anorexic because I wasn't starving. But I would purge. I went to counseling to help things get better, and things did get better, for a while. I learned some ways to change my thinking and to help regulate my spotty eating habits. He was an angel, and I was glad every time I went to see him.
After he moved away, I discontinued my counseling and decided to "go it alone." I would do things to practice being normal. I made conscious decisions to eat Poptarts because normal people would eat them and nobody would judge them. I would limit my running or workouts to make myself less obsessed with how things affected me. I would decide to go out for food or to eat at other people's places so purging would be more difficult.
I went to Germany, and I was so full of other troubles and concerns while I was there, I forgot to worry about my weight (most of the time). The beauty of that country and the spiritual experiences I had while there buoyed me up, and I returned home better and changed.
I met Clark and told him that sometimes I would still have bad days, and he was understanding.
But something that people don't get about eating disorders is that they are always there, sleeping, in the back of your mind.
I logged away every thing that people told me about my weight and my appearance. The kid in sixth grade who told me to move over because I was too big for him to see around. My well-meaning aunt who told me I needed to buy bigger jeans because the ones I was wearing were far too tight. The otherwise nice guy in college who told me I was everything he could want in a girl, but he just wasn't attracted to me. The youth and adults who would comment on my sisters' beauty and personalities without mentioning me. These are the voices that became one voice -- the voice that would compel me to throw my perfectly good health into the trash -- literally.
The voice would say that eating an Oreo made me weak. Eating more than one made me disgusting.
The voice would envy the thin grace of some of my roommates who never seemed to have to worry about what they ate and always had dates on the weekend.
The voice was sure that the reason why guys didn't ask me out at much was because I wasn't pretty.
When I got pregnant, the voice secretly wished I could get very sick so I wouldn't gain weight while pregnant. I hated taking photos of myself while pregnant and wished people would stop asking about my pregnancy in general.
The voice was jealous of moms my own age who easily bounced back from their pregnancies. I wanted to be like them. They could eat lasagna and not feel guilty. They could bake cakes and not worry. I was not like them, so I would isolate myself from them.
The voice believed I deserved to be lonely if I had no control over myself.
The voice constantly judged others for their own appearance, but only as an extension of myself.
That voice would become (and still is) my constant companion. It affects the way I see myself. It affects how I see others. Until recently, I had dominated the voice. It would still speak to me from time to time, but I could ignore it, and tell myself something else.
I started running. It was empowering, and the voice was almost silent. I was proud of myself for finishing in my first (and only) race.
But then I got hurt, and I couldn't run like I did before. I became stressed. I was lonely. I knew we had made some silly choices about life and finances that filled me with ever-present regret. And foolishly, I let the voice get stronger. I was angry that I was hurt, so when the voice came back again and said, "You're weak. You shouldn't have eaten that plate of pancakes," I did not ignore it or tell it no. Just this one time, I thought. It won't hurt me, and I know I can handle it better tomorrow.
Tomorrow came, and with it came the voice. Stronger, now, because I had listened. And the tomorrows kept on coming, until yesterday, when I finally realized I had no handles left. Mr. Eating Disorder was back up after being beaten down for so long, stealing in with both a subtlety and a ferocity that somehow turned low tide into a tsunami, turned casual wading into sudden drowning.
I'm not as whole as I'd like to be. But I am a writer. So, I'm turning this blog into something that helps me and hopefully others. I don't know yet what direction it will take, but if you're reading and you're not as whole as you'd like to be, I hope our direction will be one that helps us both get better.
