I mentioned
in my first blog about some of the things I live and struggle with,
and on any given day I may be waltzing around with more than one
issue. Sadly for me there is one that has haunted me for what seems
like an eternity, my struggle with EDNOS (Eating disorder not
otherwise specified). I know that I'm not alone in this struggle of
self hate and punishment but mine is not as simple as trying to be
one stomach flu away from a size 0. It was never like that for me. I
was never trying to look like a model. I was always feeling guilty
about something and like many young girls and women I began to use
food as a voice. (the absence of it and the over abundance kept me in
a hellish love/hate triangle)
My bulimia
started as a way to (pardon my pun) purge away the guilt. I remember
as early as 6 feeling guilty for enjoying things. I would break my
own toys and I remember punishing myself by sitting inside my bedroom
closet terrified of the darkness inside but somehow feeling it was
what I deserved. The actual purging didn't start till I was 13. I
also had a brief relationship with pica as well. The pica was the
ultimate in punishment for me. I felt like such a horrible human
being and that I didn't deserve food. I allowed myself little bits of
paper and in some cases little pieces of chalk. These things didn't
taste good or didn't qualify as food so it was guiltless. I would
shake the toaster upside down because I didn't deserve a whole piece
of bread or toast but I could have the crumbs nobody wanted. My
college years I would troll the 24 hour grocery stores late at night
for food porn. (A feast of the eyes only) I would roam down the
aisles picking things up and putting them back while the most pitiful
pear that had obviously been dropped and maybe even partially rotted
sat like a baby in the front of my cart. It rode around sometimes
rolling and falling over creating more skin blemishes than a puberty
ridden middle schooler. By then maybe I could have it. No one in
their right mind (I obviously wasn't) would want it so maybe I could
convince myself that I could have it. The person working the register
always gave me a strange look as I purchased my sub-par piece of
fruit.
The problem
for me in this is that I am overweight. The truth is, the majority
of people with an eating disorder are overweight or of average
weight. The sad part is because of that many don't get the help they
need. I was one of those people. After confessing to a doctor about
my purging and my binge/starve cycle he chuckled slightly and said I
don't look like I have anything to worry about and will probably tire
of this behavior eventually when I don't get the attention I'm
expecting. At the time I was 15. I started purging about 5 times a
day after that. After all, the doctor said I had nothing to worry
about. (Ruptured esophagus = death, weakening of the heart which
leads to heart attacks = death, kidney failure = death, stroke =
possible death etc.) He wasn't the only one in the medical community
who made me feel like an attention seeking brat. I realized very
quickly that unless I was emaciated (which can be too late to receive
help) I would never be taken seriously. I was actually fine with
that-- well, the part of me that believed I was a horrible human
being and didn't deserve anything. That part of me began to take over
after I stopped trying to get help. It reminded me that I didn't
deserve to stop. I began to believe it and I fell into a very
dangerous cycle of self injury, binge/purge, and starve behaviors. I
was almost high with the sadistic rituals I put myself through.
Later as an adult things got out of hand again. A stressful moment
can start the madness and I'm 70lbs down in two months, my hair is
coming out in clumps, I have dizzy spells, anemia, and big dry
patches all over my body. I was once told by a woman who I suppose
was trying to help that I was going to hell for treating (my body)
the temple of the Lord with such disregard. (She was referring to my
constant purging and negative words I had singed into my skin) I
looked at her and responded “This is hell!” I even had a
minister try to give me diet advice that was safer than what I was
doing. Um...really?? WTH??? Look I know sometimes people just
don't know what to say and in those instances I wish they would just
keep their pie hole shut! Everyday and every bite I take there is
always that thought “you don't deserve it!” “Spit it out!”
It's terribly exhausting to hate yourself so much but then again
isn't that the point. To exhaust myself to the point where I can no
longer be. Where I'm just a hollow shell curled into a cupboard
trying not to take up room because there are other people, wonderful
people that deserve to be. At my lowest I wrote this poem.
ERASE ME
Erase me.
I'm just a smudge.
This sketch
would be much cleaner
If you'd
cut me off or blot me out
Or whittle
me much leaner.
Erase me.
It's not a loss
My shadow
soon unknown
Those that
are left may walk in light
And not my
hellmouth roam.
Erase me. I
beg of you.
Don't make
the torture longer.
White me
out, scrape me off,
Just make
sure I'm a goner.
Erase me.
Don't recreate
For I'm not
worth the space.
Don't watch
me fade, evaporate,
Just let me
be erased.
Erase me.
I'm just a flaw.
Don't ruin
your masterpiece.
Just peel
me off, and carve me out
And make
this being cease.
Erase me.
Now that I
look back on this and sad to say many other poems and essays I wrote
I can see how far I've come. Maybe not as far as I want (I tend to
be impatient with myself) but the fact that I don't feel like this on
a regular day to day basis is amazing. I was dying inside, hollowed
out, and severely depressed. I may not always be rainbows and
sunshine but I no longer wake up disappointed that I didn't die in my
sleep. Truth is I don't go a day without condemning myself whenever
anything crosses my lips (even raw vegetables) There is always that
nagging feeling of not being deserving of that salad or piece of
cheese. The sour bitter remembrance of bile on my tongue and how easy
it would be to just rid my stomach of any culinary sin. I know that
slippery slope all too well. Awakening the beast inside and knowing I
won't be able to stop. It scares me. Today, I survived this hunger
game. Every baby step is a victory. So no matter your gait, just keep
moving forward.
