This weekend I am going to a family bachelorette party. I’m not looking forward to it for several No Good reasons, all having to do with ED. I feel bloated and fat, so clothes are not exciting to me. Okay fine, I dread putting on clothes. I hate being seen! Cameras-let’s not even go there!
Then there is food. I’ve managed all these weeks because I found routine foods that I feel safe with, this weekend I’m entering the unknown. Surely there are salads on menus-I will make it work-it isn’t just that it’s the environment. Lots of wine. Comments will be made about me food that I will have to respond to like how I think a person with a relatively healthy relationship with food would. The back of my mind always flashes to My Dirty Secret.
My mind will compare my body to everyone else’s and I will be jealous of them regardless of their size because I have an ED and they (likely) don’t. I can’t help but envy that they can go on a diet and lose weight without losing their mind. Hell! I’m jealous that they can go on a diet and lose at all! The havoc I’ve put my body through has it all fucked up and rebellious. I can’t even poop without laxatives and I only used them moderately not some crazy abuser. Or maybe I was, who knows all those times that I was drowning in my ED fog rationality was not my strong suit.
Most girls who get sucked in know the dangers. At least some of the damage that will be done. We are like any other addict, alcoholics, drugs, gambling, we all start thinking that we’ve got it under control. I hate this disorder. The thing is, I don’t think there was much I could do to avoid it. As far back as I could remember I’ve had unhealthy thoughts of food and body image. How could those thoughts not turn into behavior? I blame my mother.
My mom was always a dieter. She was always concerns with looking fat and feeling fat. Always commenting on thin people, whether complimentary or snarky, it was always clear that thin was better. Everyday I struggle with the reflection in the mirror. I see fat. Every thought of food is a struggle and laden with guilt. All kinds of guilt. Big guilt. Small guilt. Guilt for eating too much. Guilt for eating to little. Guilt for feeling guilty. Here guilt. There guilt. Everywhere there’s guilt GUILT! And if my mom is around and there is anything to do with food, eating, and body, the animosity I have towards her grows. I bounce back and forth and wonder if it’s fair. Surely she can’t be blamed for her ignorance? But the truth is, she’s the root of this. She was a bad role model in that way.
I move out In June and every time I think of it I get this amazing feeling of greatness inside! It is still serving as a motivator to get healthy. I need this so much! I need my body to heal. I her stories almost daily (through podcasts) about people who have healed their bodies with diet playing a key role. It keeps my hopes up. I’m not doomed to wallow in the depths of misery weighted by my ED. I can have a Good Life still.