Tell Me...

Tell me it's OK to eat. Tell me I won't gain 100lbs if I eat a few grapes. Tell me everything's going to be alright.

Eating is so hard sometimes. OK, most of the time. There's anxiety before I eat (do I really need that apple?) and after (no, I didn't now I'm going to get fat(ter)). While I'm eating is different, It yells and yells to stop because I'm out of control. As soon as that food hits my tongue I can't stop, because that's what happens when you don't eat normally. I know this. The non-disordered part of me wants me to eat like everybody else, but that part of me doesn't really win too much. It tells me I can avoid that loss of control by just not eating, which is just so much easier. And as of this writing (7/28) I have only managed to eat an egg white all day. It's 8:15. And in some sick way this has made me happy, it's like a drug, not eating makes me feel high. (duh! Not eating all day makes you woozy of course I feel high)

I'm told things all day long none of it is anything I need to hear. Or maybe it is things I need to hear, that damn monster just doesn't let those things get in because maybe I'll get stronger and being strong isn't being in control. (Which as we all know that makes PERFECT sense)

I seriously wish I had any sort of artistic talent, other than drawing manatees and puppies, so I could draw out what exactly is going on in my head that tug-of-war between my angels trying to save me and the monster that THINKS it's trying to save me. I've got angels and monsters telling me things all day long, unfortunately at the moment the monster is louder. The angels are trying their hardest to drown It out, my munchkins, my therapist, and you.

 

Keep telling me things, even if you think they might be too harsh. Tell me things to make the monster shut up.

And let me tell you, I love you. Even if we've never met. Or you've never done anything for me. I LOVE YOU!

Just tell me things.

An Abusive Relationship

I've done a lot of reading up on anorexia and other eating disorders. There are Pinterest boards and Instagrams dedicated to them. The most terrifying promote these as "lifestyle choices" (ugh, that's a competely different post) but most are people, boys and girls, just like me, who are lost and scared and looking for help or somebody who understands. And what I've come to realize is that most, if not all, of these people describe anorexia as Ana, a girl that knows how to help you get what you want. I don't see it like that. For me, this is like being in a relationship, one that starts off so perfect, until you mess up of course.

Then the abuse starts, the screaming and punishments. That's when you get scared and try to leave. But It apologizes and tells you that if you just listen there won't be any problems. Simple, isn't it? Until you mess up again. This cycle continues. On and on it goes.

Somebody sees the problem, but you stick that smile on your face, the one you've become so good at faking, and you swear that everything is fine. It's exhausting though, if this were a Lifetime movie you'd have shot the son-of-a-bitch already. That's actually really tempting, and you flirt with the idea for a nanosecond before realizing, this isn't that kind of relationship. If you get out that gun, sure It would be dead, but so would you and suicide isn't an option and never will be.

What do you do? You run for help. The second It's guard is down you bolt, and send out an SOS. Unfortunately It knows what you've done, that's the problem with this relationship, it's literally impossible to keep anything a secret. So you cry and beg and apologize, but the damage has been done. It knows your relationship will never be the same. So It changes the way it operates. It knows you are fighting. But It still magnages to coax you out at your most vulnerable.

Those times are the worst. It is mad and afraid you'll escape, the whispers about your flaws have turned to yells. It yells louder than ever because It knows you are fighting and that isn't OK. That's all this is now, yelling and fighting.

This has become my life. Fighting to obey It and fighting to get away. Fighting is exhausting and I can't do it everyday. So I listen and do as I'm told. Honestly, those days are the easiest, sure I feel guilty because I know it's unhealthy but the guilt is shoved aside for the reward I get when I skip a meal. The reward of weightlessness or another pound lost or It whispering in my ear "see, your thighs? Don't they look SO.MUCH.BETTER?"

I wish It was easier to kill without killing myself. But since that isn't an option, I'm in for the long haul. Fighting as hard as I can to kill It before It kills me.

 

Right?

 

It starts off as a choice, one where you choose to skip a meal, no big deal, right? It makes you feel better, you're weightless and you feel like you could run a thousand miles and not stop. After that you convince yourself that you can also skip that snack you usually have between breakfast and lunch, besides coffee is quite enough. And while you're at it, you might as well skip lunch. You can always have more coffee, or even better, a nice bottle of water. After lunch passes it's time for a snack you're still in control and choose some cheese or an apple. Nothing too filling because dinner is coming and that's harder to avoid. Dinner comes and it's all you can do to not shove everything down your throat, after all you've barely eaten. so you load up your plate to make up for skipping all of those meals earlier. You don't think much of anything while you munch away and laugh and converse with those at the dinner table. It isn't until later when it hits you, that feeling, you no longer feel weightless; and out of the darkness comes a voice, one that you haven't heard before. A sickeningly sweet voice that whispers how It can help you get the control you need, all you have to do is listen to everything It says.

"Control" that voice knows exactly what to say and you're instantly hooked. Because, if you're in control that means you're perfect. Of course It starts off slow and encourages coffee and a granola bar in the morning. Nothing else all day. The next day is the exact same: coffee and granola. After only two days you start to feel weightless again. After only two days your jeans are looser and you're slowly falling into Its trap. It backs off for a little while, after all you've seen success and It trusts that you know what you need to do. But now you're on your own, terrified, and you feel yourself slipping. And so you fall back into old habits, eating when you get hungry (gasp!). Your jeans don't fit as well as they were starting to. Finally It comes back. Meaner and harsher than before, you broke It's trust. It told you what you needed to do and you just let it all go out the window. It tells you, only coffee, tea, and water from now. And you listen, because you finally have a friend, one who swears they won't leave until you are perfect and in control. What you don't seem to realize is that this "friend" that promised you these things is slowly taking it all away. It is taking even more than control, It is robbing you of everything, but you either don't notice or don't care. People are noticing a change, they comment on it. "Have you lost weight? You look really good" and first it's "yes, 8 pounds" but then 8 turns to 16 and 16 turns to 18. People say you're getting too thin but you don't care. When you look in the mirror you don't see it and that voice is whispering how you still have such a long way to go. And you agree, you stand in front of the mirror, forever, dissecting every little flaw; whether real or imaginary, you can't tell at this point. It has taken over and you don't care because you still think you're in control. And if you can "keep" this control you'll be absolutely perfect.

Control and perfection it's all you need, right?

 

You're Stronger Than You Think

"You're stronger than you think"

When people tell me that I know they do it to be nice, they want to be supportive but it's not helpful. It makes me feel guilty because I can't see this strong person, I don't feel strong. Even when I ignore that monster telling me to not eat, because I know after I eat the monster just gets scarier. I feel weak when I don't eat because I know I should be able to fight those feelings that tell me I don't need food. Not eating also makes me physically weak, this monster is taking away things I love. I can't swim laps without feeling like I'm going to faint.

I had an inservice at work where they asked us to swim a 500 which is 20 laps. I swam competitvely for 14 years, that's something I had done countless times, something that should've been second nature at that point, but I had been listening to that monster even more lately and in the days leading up to the swim I had eaten, maybe 300 calories, and 200 of those calories had been eaten just before then because I knew I needed something, and at that point my choice seemed completely rational. It wasn't. I had to stop less than halfway through because I knew if I kept going I would faint. That was such a low point for many reasons, it was low because I was letting this monster control me. It was low because I didn't fight through it and finish, but what if I had kept going and fainted in the pool? What would've happened? The crazy thing was that I didn't eat after that, not for a while, even though that's where my problems started.

So, no, I don't feel strong, I don't think I'm anywhere close to it, but I'm fighting. Maybe not everyday like I should, but hopefully I'll get there soon.

The Blame Game

It would be so easy to blame my parents for this. To blame them for how much I struggle every day. Unfortunately it isn't that simple. I didn't have a shitty childhood, I wasn't abused or neglected. My parents were there for me giving me just enough space to make my own mistakes but stepping in when needed. Not that there was ever much stepping in to be done, I've always avoided trouble at all costs for fear of not being perfect. The reality is that my perfectionism is to blame, the way my mind works is the problem. I need control and it's gotten to the point where I will do anything to get it; even if that means going for days without eating.

For those that know me and everything that's gone on the last few years you know that everything kind of went to hell. I don't need to repeat the sordid details of everything that happened there isn't really a need for that. I've always been fiercely dependant on my parents and those I love, looking for protection from the terrifying unknowns. But I'm working on becoming a more idependant person and doing things for myself even if they scare me. And no matter how much I want too and how much easier things would be if I could blame somebody for this, I can't because it's not about blame. This is about taking responsibilty, if I can't do that then I certainly won't get better.

The Back Story

Everybody knows what an eating disorder is, the main types; anorexia and bulimia. We are taught to identify them so we can help a friend if needed. Luckily (I say that because that's what it seemed like for a while) with my crazy schedule and my move across the country it was harder to catch, some people suspected, I know because they asked, but I felt fine. I was losing weight and to me that was a good thing. But then I stopped losing, my metabolism was shutting down from only allowing myself 500 calories a day and the monster was getting scarier and scarier because I wasn't getting any thinner. When I was nearly late for school because I spent 20 minutes at the store trying to find a drink that wouldn't make me hate myself for drinking it, I knew I had a problem. That night I crawled into bed and texted the first person I could think of and finally shared what I had been trying so hard to hide.

Looking back I'm shocked that that's what broke me down, a simple drink, when what should've scared me was that I hadn't eaten for two days at that point and it would be another full day before I ate. And honestly I'm still not OK, therapy helps, my therapist is amazing, I honestly think if we were the same age and had met under different circumstances then we could've ended up as friends. But some days fighting is too hard and I don't eat. And it's hard when I look in the mirror because I don't see a difference. All I want is to be skinnier and that way of thinking needs to stop.

The Diagnosis

Anorexia. That's my official diagnosis. Which seems utterly ridiculous to be honest, I eat (barely 500 calories a day). I don't over exercise (because my jobs burn crazy calories). And I still eat dessert (even though I hate myself for it).

Sometimes I feel like the worst anorexic in the world, I'm not even under 100lbs. (In case you're wondering I clock in at a whopping 104). I think it's the perfectionist side of me, this monster that demands I be the most perfect anorexic ever. What kind of fucked up thinking is that?

My therapist calls this my "food issues" because of the stigma that comes along with anorexia. It's less scary that way. And I'm terrified enough as it is. And being scared won't help me get better, even though I feel like I'm scared of everything.

I know people hide eating disorders and I did until I couldn't any longer. So now what helps is talking. I need to get out how I'm feeling and the jumbled up thoughts in my head. That's part of the reason I'm writing this. I also need people to shake me and tell me that what I think isn't true. And I have the best and most supporting people in my life and if I didn't have them my "anorexia" or "food issues" or whatever it is you choose to call this would be 10 times harder to beat. With your help I know I can get through this.

Reading This

If you're reading this, first of all, thank you. Second, I don't know what I'm doing.

If you're reading this, that means I'm sharing the torture I've been living with for over a year. It means that I'm confronting everything I've been hiding, things I didn't want to deal with, and sometimes still don't want to deal with. Things I didn't want everyone I love to deal with, and things that have built up so much I finally had to let them out. Plus, writing is a form of therapy and cheaper than shopping.

If you're reading this, that means I trust you enough to let you into my world, a world I should warn you might be hard to handle at times, but a world I must fight to get out of. This horrible world that I've built in my mind despite how loved I know I am. Or if you're reading this you could've just stumbled upon my blog by accident and that's kind of a cool thought, welcome!

And mostly, if you're reading this, I love you. Whether you're here because I sent you the link or because you accidentally found it, I love you. If your world is perfect or if your world is full of despair, I love you. I'm much better at loving others than loving myself and hopefully someday that will change, until then I spend my time loving my family, friends, and my sweet munchkins.

Lots and lots of love,

Miranda