hello again.
ive realized that I repeatedly write on this blog when I am depressed, stressed, or on the verge of wanting-yet-not-seriously-considering suicide. ahhh. drama. :/ sorry. but I guess its a sign that this blog is clearly a stress outlet for me. so that's good.
anyways. today the sob story comes after a weekend in which E and I were able to chat at least a little bit. mainly I just asked her questions about her transition from obsession to reassurance/where she is in terms of Christianity. I was actually prepared to open the can of worms and talk about all the deep, bleak, uncomfortable lies I needed to tell someone. I was going to go there, but things didn't go as planned and our time alone together was horribly, horribly short. so I sort of just had to accept that and try to get as much from her as I wanted to know/could without explicitly stating the hundreds of reasons behind why I truly wanted to know those things.
today (and really the last 3 or so days) I have had serious body hate. like I just HATE my fucking fat body. this little lard cone that is my humongo butt and thighs. I get terrified every single time I have to put on my work uniform because last Friday my worst nightmare came true--my dress pants were too tight because I had lost control around food and all my binging had finally caught up: i.e. Id clearly gained weight. fuck. fuck fuck fuck. I hate gaining weight. I hate being forced to wear pants that are going to be too tight. it feels nearly impossible to let myself try and make progress with intuitive eating because im so terrified that if I gained any more weight or forgave myself for binging things would spiral out of control even more and my pants would DEFINITELY not fit, but because I don't have $30 to go buy a larger size, id be stuck wearing them. and im also so uncomfortable because of my weight/the realities of the gains that I want comfort and thus food.
I need so much fucking help its insane.
all I want to do now, of course, is go on a healthy diet like I did with my half marathon. I want to go extreme. focus on my workouts, set my calorie limit and ban sugars, processed foods, etc. even knowing as I do now that such behavior will only ultimately end with the same weight gain as I had lost, I still want to do it. I want to be thin at least for a while. that's better than not being thin at all and only gaining, gaining, gaining weight.
but that's not truly what I want to do. no, what I really want is to keep/start making progress in recovery and intuitive eating. I want to finally be done with this half-life of eating disorders. but that means facing very dark, deep things of my past. it means going through what I mentally picture as about 7-9 huge bins of old, dusty files. and then...I don't know...having to retype every page into a computer or something. but I am even willing to do this! I am willing to dig and hurt and cry and work through this all. however, I honestly do not think or know how to begin doing it alone. I need help. I need someone to assist me in sorting through it all. where do I start? which bin? the more I think about these things, the more revelation I gain about what how my past correlates with my current state and the development of my eating disorder. so its good to rehash it, I know, but still. who can I ask for help? what if I tell E and then we never talk about it again, like my bulimia? I couldn't handle that. I need someone who will not abandon me to these problems but will take my hand, inhale slowly, and then say with quiet strength and confidence, "let's go." and we will step into the journey together. I need a friend.
I was reading earlier today about suicidal thoughts in children. can they legitimately experience them? and of course, the answer was yes. yes, they can. and if they are expressed, they should be taken seriously and acted on immediately. they are often a voice to the child's desperate need for help; the child most likely feels that he or she is in such a bleak situation that they cannot see any way things could possibly get better. they come to believe that death is the only possible answer or way of escape. yes to all of that.
alright, I think that's all for now. im just gambling away with my body and health and future. I really want to talk with E about all of this.
Monday, July 22, 2013
Thursday, July 11, 2013
healing
so I now know what I need to do to recover. I know the next step. I know what will finally bring me freedom from my compulsive binging and purging and obsession with food.
and I am terrified.
I am so scared of trying to address what is wrong, of facing it. not because it will be painful but because digging into it will necessitate that I tell E my darkest secret. she knows about my bulimia. she knows, from my parents, about cutting. she knows these hidden, disordered things and yet they themselves were never, ever the real issue. the real issue she does not know about; in fact, no one except Kim and Robbie know about it, this horrible haunting reality that I cannot move past. I can see now that I have been splintered from it, and it is the source of pain that keeps sucking me back from healing. everything I do in relation to food comes back down to this. and I have thus far just continuously tried to push it away and when that doesn't work, swallow it down with cherry filled donuts or, when the reality still claws its way into my consciousness, chug enough coke zero to try and violently purge it out of my core. then and really only then can I become so consumed with my immediate pain that the Truth has to take a backseat--my mental security, if you will, finally comes to haul this nagging Reality out the back door. once that's done i can rest in the murky, watery bleakness of my "Eating Disorder World."
but that's not going to work anymore, not if i want to ever truly recover. i have to confront the abuse of my past--not get stuck in it, but rock back and forth between its details and my present life. i have to reexamine what i came to believe then, when i was a victim, and compare it against what i know now as a strong, capable adult. i must take a second look. and i must let myself grieve over what happened. i need to let myself feel angry, heartbroken, depressed, scared. and i need help to do this. i wish i didn't, but i do. the context of what went down in my relationship with God is overwhelmingly confusing for me. and yet it is what keeps me in bondage to bulimia; it is the reality i am terrified of facing and in so many ways have blatantly refused to face, for several reasons.
for one thing, it is nearly absolute taboo within the church to ever call a relationship with God abusive. i know that. God is perfect and holy--He cannot do evil. i agree. im not saying that God Himself was abusive--but i am saying that the ways in which i interacted with God and the beliefs/rituals/mindset i had when i thought i was a Christian were abusive in nature. as i was reading through When Food Is Love by Geneen Roth, everything she kept talking about in the context of previous abuse as children came back to this. ive often wondered why i have so many fucked up relations with food and yet haven't been able to find a direct correlation between any abuse from my parents/friends/family and the habits i watered. but everything, and i really do mean everything, came together when i gently, hesitantly tried labeling whatever relationship it was i had with God as abusive in nature. it makes sense. i don't think its coincidence that the time i recall as being the start of my eating disorder is the same time i "ended" my relationship with God. i left. i said no more. i accepted that i was not a Christian and tried to move on. and in some ways, many ways, i did. but no matter what i do, i still cannot move past the relentless assaults on my conscience over what happened. its there every time i go to church, every time i hear of death; it seeps into my thoughts whenever there's a bad thunderstorm or i board an airplane. the thought, the question of what will happen when i die. where do i stand with God? can i ever be saved? will i ever be redeemed? i long for it and recoil from it at the same time. i used to think i was stupid for feeling both ways. but no, not now when i consider what happened. my reaction makes perfect sense. who wouldn't recoil at the thought of completely surrendering themselves to what was previously an abusive relationship? seriously, i mean, really, it makes sense. of course i am terrified, of course i feel an overwhelming jolt of despair--the relationship i remember was hell. it was horrible. it demanded perfection and did not give grace. it stripped me of dignity and required frequent recitations of my utter lack of worth. it assailed me with doubt and never, EVER assured me whether my endless confessions and prayers for salvation would be answered. i could be told by others that they were, but then if there wasn't fruit in my life, if i wasn't growing or perfect or whatever, then nope, surely you're not saved. that kept me locked in a viscous, endless battle of crying and headaches and OCD-like tendencies. and I have consequently thus far refused to go back to it, to even consider what happened or to try and find resolution within it. I just want nothing to do with it.
but now I am here. and finally I can see that this is the thing--this old, exhausting, painful relationship--is what fabricated the heart of my eating disorder. and i will never be able to move beyond it if i do not confront what went on...i have to face it.
i don't want to tell E the truth about what happened or where i am at now because it will irrevocably and very deeply change the way we interact (there is no way in which it could not). although of everyone i know, E is by far the one person i would feel most comfortable telling. ive learned from my last confession regarding my bulimia not to expect an outburst, not to expect any sign that what i have to say is shocking or unsettling. but things will be different most likely with this revelation...she will have to adjust to the fact that i have been lying about the core of my identity to a lot of people for about 5 years now. i don't want to tell her this. but i know that she struggled with similar issues in terms of OCD-like compulsions regarding what the Holy Spirit was guiding her to do vs. what she incorrectly just felt like God was guiding her to do when she was younger. i don't know how she found freedom from that...but it was one of the key things that made me give up. she may be able to help me do differently now. and she's also grown up in the same family as me, went to the same church on Sundays and youth group on Wednesdays. she will know more so than others where i am coming from. still...even with all of that, i am scared. this is the most basic and fundamental lie i have kept up--it has allowed me to feel safe and protected and comfortable within my family. it has allowed for them to be a safe haven for me. but it has been a sham. i have not been honest and i guess in some ways that means the security was a façade as well. shamefully, i must also admit that telling E now would not be nearly as bad as having told her earlier because at least now i rarely see her anymore anyways. only our limited interactions would be awkward. and yet...and yet. vulnerability terrifies me.
but i have to do this. i have to tell her. i have to face what happened if i ever want full recovery.
and i do.
and I am terrified.
I am so scared of trying to address what is wrong, of facing it. not because it will be painful but because digging into it will necessitate that I tell E my darkest secret. she knows about my bulimia. she knows, from my parents, about cutting. she knows these hidden, disordered things and yet they themselves were never, ever the real issue. the real issue she does not know about; in fact, no one except Kim and Robbie know about it, this horrible haunting reality that I cannot move past. I can see now that I have been splintered from it, and it is the source of pain that keeps sucking me back from healing. everything I do in relation to food comes back down to this. and I have thus far just continuously tried to push it away and when that doesn't work, swallow it down with cherry filled donuts or, when the reality still claws its way into my consciousness, chug enough coke zero to try and violently purge it out of my core. then and really only then can I become so consumed with my immediate pain that the Truth has to take a backseat--my mental security, if you will, finally comes to haul this nagging Reality out the back door. once that's done i can rest in the murky, watery bleakness of my "Eating Disorder World."
but that's not going to work anymore, not if i want to ever truly recover. i have to confront the abuse of my past--not get stuck in it, but rock back and forth between its details and my present life. i have to reexamine what i came to believe then, when i was a victim, and compare it against what i know now as a strong, capable adult. i must take a second look. and i must let myself grieve over what happened. i need to let myself feel angry, heartbroken, depressed, scared. and i need help to do this. i wish i didn't, but i do. the context of what went down in my relationship with God is overwhelmingly confusing for me. and yet it is what keeps me in bondage to bulimia; it is the reality i am terrified of facing and in so many ways have blatantly refused to face, for several reasons.
for one thing, it is nearly absolute taboo within the church to ever call a relationship with God abusive. i know that. God is perfect and holy--He cannot do evil. i agree. im not saying that God Himself was abusive--but i am saying that the ways in which i interacted with God and the beliefs/rituals/mindset i had when i thought i was a Christian were abusive in nature. as i was reading through When Food Is Love by Geneen Roth, everything she kept talking about in the context of previous abuse as children came back to this. ive often wondered why i have so many fucked up relations with food and yet haven't been able to find a direct correlation between any abuse from my parents/friends/family and the habits i watered. but everything, and i really do mean everything, came together when i gently, hesitantly tried labeling whatever relationship it was i had with God as abusive in nature. it makes sense. i don't think its coincidence that the time i recall as being the start of my eating disorder is the same time i "ended" my relationship with God. i left. i said no more. i accepted that i was not a Christian and tried to move on. and in some ways, many ways, i did. but no matter what i do, i still cannot move past the relentless assaults on my conscience over what happened. its there every time i go to church, every time i hear of death; it seeps into my thoughts whenever there's a bad thunderstorm or i board an airplane. the thought, the question of what will happen when i die. where do i stand with God? can i ever be saved? will i ever be redeemed? i long for it and recoil from it at the same time. i used to think i was stupid for feeling both ways. but no, not now when i consider what happened. my reaction makes perfect sense. who wouldn't recoil at the thought of completely surrendering themselves to what was previously an abusive relationship? seriously, i mean, really, it makes sense. of course i am terrified, of course i feel an overwhelming jolt of despair--the relationship i remember was hell. it was horrible. it demanded perfection and did not give grace. it stripped me of dignity and required frequent recitations of my utter lack of worth. it assailed me with doubt and never, EVER assured me whether my endless confessions and prayers for salvation would be answered. i could be told by others that they were, but then if there wasn't fruit in my life, if i wasn't growing or perfect or whatever, then nope, surely you're not saved. that kept me locked in a viscous, endless battle of crying and headaches and OCD-like tendencies. and I have consequently thus far refused to go back to it, to even consider what happened or to try and find resolution within it. I just want nothing to do with it.
but now I am here. and finally I can see that this is the thing--this old, exhausting, painful relationship--is what fabricated the heart of my eating disorder. and i will never be able to move beyond it if i do not confront what went on...i have to face it.
i don't want to tell E the truth about what happened or where i am at now because it will irrevocably and very deeply change the way we interact (there is no way in which it could not). although of everyone i know, E is by far the one person i would feel most comfortable telling. ive learned from my last confession regarding my bulimia not to expect an outburst, not to expect any sign that what i have to say is shocking or unsettling. but things will be different most likely with this revelation...she will have to adjust to the fact that i have been lying about the core of my identity to a lot of people for about 5 years now. i don't want to tell her this. but i know that she struggled with similar issues in terms of OCD-like compulsions regarding what the Holy Spirit was guiding her to do vs. what she incorrectly just felt like God was guiding her to do when she was younger. i don't know how she found freedom from that...but it was one of the key things that made me give up. she may be able to help me do differently now. and she's also grown up in the same family as me, went to the same church on Sundays and youth group on Wednesdays. she will know more so than others where i am coming from. still...even with all of that, i am scared. this is the most basic and fundamental lie i have kept up--it has allowed me to feel safe and protected and comfortable within my family. it has allowed for them to be a safe haven for me. but it has been a sham. i have not been honest and i guess in some ways that means the security was a façade as well. shamefully, i must also admit that telling E now would not be nearly as bad as having told her earlier because at least now i rarely see her anymore anyways. only our limited interactions would be awkward. and yet...and yet. vulnerability terrifies me.
but i have to do this. i have to tell her. i have to face what happened if i ever want full recovery.
and i do.
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
compulsion
yesterday was a weird day. my parents had a political rally/event at the county level to host and we had made about 3 large pans worth of brownies, blonde brownies, and lemon bars. earlier in the day, I had done well with intuitively eating my way through breakfast and lunch (essentially). but when I got home from spending some time at the beach with my sister, my mom had sliced the bars and had saved the crumbs for us to eat. of course D didn't have any, but I felt extremely compelled to just go dive in. and so I did. and it was horrible because I knew from the first chocolate chip all the way until the final crust that I should not be doing this. I shouldn't be eating standing up, and even though I was hungry, I should really be asking my body what it wants. but for whatever inexplicable reason I felt entirely unable to get control and stop. I felt like I HAD to eat that food and I desperately didn't want to say no. so that was weird and threw me into a spiral of not wanting to workout or do anything self-caring, even though if I hadn't eaten them I would have been perfectly happy working out.
so that was that.
then came the evening I had been greatly anticipating and dreading for days. oh yes--the buffet style meal in which there would be endless amounts of food to partake in. I was worried I wouldn't be hungry to begin with, but I was, so that was good. And I pretty muchly only took what I wanted to eat and did sit down. That was okay. The problem came when I went back for more...and then more...and kept trying to sneak more and more food. I didn't actually get my hands on nearly as much as I wanted to or as much as this post probably makes it sound like I ate. but the problem I have, and what I still do not fully understand (and thus am trying to cultivate curiosity about) is what the hell was going on in my mind in relation to this food. its crazy how much during the meeting I felt so INSANELY possessive over the food that was present. like, literally, after some reflection last night, I think the best way to describe it is like watching your ex boyfriend sleep with hundreds of other girls, and some of them sluts, just like you. seriously, it was awful. I kept my eye on the table of food basically all night long. and whenever people would grab a helping of something I was so internally anxious and broken. I felt antsy, like I was only one knee jerk away from leaping from my chair and sprinting to go protect the desserts on the table. and then at the end of the night, while we were cleaning up, I was like, oh my gosh--I can't let anyone take any of this food home! T and others would say, "alright guys--come get more food! don't make us take this all home!" and I wanted to cry and scream and push everyone away and just hover around my food. I felt like a mother protecting her children, her precious children, against vicious wolves. I mean, there was even a point last night where I was playing out my full fantasy of being able to just be entirely, entirely alone with all that food in the field near the airport parking lot. and nothing had ever seemed more deliciously satisfying and lonely. what stupid, selfish, horrible images--and yet how telling. seriously, if this is how im feeling about something as simple as us making a lot of bars for a potluck/buffet dinner I need to sit up and look closer. clearly there is something a hell of a lot bigger going on under the surface here that is causing me to react with such desperation. I mean last night when we got home I binged with dad basically on bars and cookies. then I woke up starving this morning and basically on autopilot went downstairs and binged a lot harder on the same bars and cookies. and im still planning to binge again when everyone leaves for the morning. so what's going on, dear? huh? what is causing you to do this?
I need to give it some more thought.
so that was that.
then came the evening I had been greatly anticipating and dreading for days. oh yes--the buffet style meal in which there would be endless amounts of food to partake in. I was worried I wouldn't be hungry to begin with, but I was, so that was good. And I pretty muchly only took what I wanted to eat and did sit down. That was okay. The problem came when I went back for more...and then more...and kept trying to sneak more and more food. I didn't actually get my hands on nearly as much as I wanted to or as much as this post probably makes it sound like I ate. but the problem I have, and what I still do not fully understand (and thus am trying to cultivate curiosity about) is what the hell was going on in my mind in relation to this food. its crazy how much during the meeting I felt so INSANELY possessive over the food that was present. like, literally, after some reflection last night, I think the best way to describe it is like watching your ex boyfriend sleep with hundreds of other girls, and some of them sluts, just like you. seriously, it was awful. I kept my eye on the table of food basically all night long. and whenever people would grab a helping of something I was so internally anxious and broken. I felt antsy, like I was only one knee jerk away from leaping from my chair and sprinting to go protect the desserts on the table. and then at the end of the night, while we were cleaning up, I was like, oh my gosh--I can't let anyone take any of this food home! T and others would say, "alright guys--come get more food! don't make us take this all home!" and I wanted to cry and scream and push everyone away and just hover around my food. I felt like a mother protecting her children, her precious children, against vicious wolves. I mean, there was even a point last night where I was playing out my full fantasy of being able to just be entirely, entirely alone with all that food in the field near the airport parking lot. and nothing had ever seemed more deliciously satisfying and lonely. what stupid, selfish, horrible images--and yet how telling. seriously, if this is how im feeling about something as simple as us making a lot of bars for a potluck/buffet dinner I need to sit up and look closer. clearly there is something a hell of a lot bigger going on under the surface here that is causing me to react with such desperation. I mean last night when we got home I binged with dad basically on bars and cookies. then I woke up starving this morning and basically on autopilot went downstairs and binged a lot harder on the same bars and cookies. and im still planning to binge again when everyone leaves for the morning. so what's going on, dear? huh? what is causing you to do this?
I need to give it some more thought.
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