December 6, 2005
Too Much Thinking
*wrote this on another journal site (www.xanga.com same username), and it automatically "fixed" my lower-case 'i's. grrrrrr. i intentionally make them small. If i wanted them capitalized, i would have done so.... ugh***
Random thinking....
I wonder sometimes where to begin. I think back on the years and wonder where the starting point is. Do I begin at 5 years old, when, sitting on the back porch with my twin sister, Heather and our then-best-friend Lori, I somehow came to the conclusion that I did not deserve the plate of macaroni-and-cheese sitting before me? At six, when I first realized that the body was something to dislike, to hate, to feel ashamed of? Or maybe I begin at the age of seven, when I began, on numerous nights, to sit backwards on my bed, middle of the night, hugging my pillow, staring up at the man in the moon and crying silent tears because "no one loves me"? (Careful, always, not to wake my sister who slept merely feet from me, safe and sound in her own little dream world. A place I could not find -- nor create-- for myself).
Perhaps I begin at the age of nine when I first began stealing diet pills; "gifts" from my grandmother who sent them to my mom on a fairly regular basis. Or maybe at the age of 10 when I began skipping after school snacks, elated at the thought I wasn't "giving in" like my siblings. This was, in a way, my "gateway" into the world of anorexia. Skipped snacks turned into avoiding specific foods, in turn leading to skipping whole meals all together. In my mind, it somehow made me stronger. I could deny myself the feeling of hunger and it was empowering. To say this is where it all began is somewhat misleading, however -- as I believe other circumstances led up to this breaking point. Other things led to the continuance of the disorder.
There were the months I lived on fat-free, sugar free yogurt and Raspberry Nutra-grain bars. Nothing else. 220 calories a day. Switched to eating only spaghetti-o's. Then to only eating small portions of plain Cream-of-Wheat, occasionally allowing myself to "indulge" in the chocolate flavor. The month in junior high I spent living solely on a bottle of diet coke and half a package of Skittles every day. Years later, my twin and I in our first apartment together, living for two entire months on dill pickle slices and diet mountain dew.
I don't know if an eating disorder is something that actually has a beginning--- or an end for that matter. Yeah, one may find recovery-- that elusive "other side". But how can you not have the idea in your head that ( post-recovery) if things get bad enough, you can always 'go back' to the eating disorder. Why? Cause you know it worked. Yeah, there are far better ways to deal with life, but when you reach a certain point, you go with what you know, even it's a bit self-destructive.
Simply put, I can't give a definitive beginning. I did not wake one morning and decide to starve myself. Ana had a life of it's own, and had it's own agenda for mine. By the time I realized that something wasn't quite right, wasn't quite normal-- I was already too far down the spiral to climb my way back out again. And by that time, I felt rather safe, small, secure in my own little world of anorexia. I didn't WANT to climb out again. I couldn't deal with life, with the world, with everyone else, and in my world-- I didn't have to. It wasn't a selfish endeavor. It never really has been.
Some will disagree with me. Some will say anorexia is selfish. Well-- they haven't lived my life, so they don't really know. And I refuse to be categorized into some 'description', some textbook classification of what my anorexia is or isn't. Yeah-- I may share some characteristics with other anorexics, but none of us are exactly the same. None of us will ever fit the same DSM-IV 'requirements' to the same degree. I've never viewed my anorexia or the reasons behind it, as selfish. If anything-- it's quite the opposite. I've always felt the world was better off without me taking up as much space. Disappearance was the goal, but not for my own sake. I was doing it for them. All of them. I wanted to be out of the way, less noticeable, unobtrusive. In short, I didn't want to be seen. Wanted my existence unknown. Just a silent bystander passing by. Alone. On my own. So I remain silent, keep everything inside. Continually build the walls and keep people out (most of them, anyhow). On the surface I have it all. Everything is perfect and life is great.
But on the inside I am falling apart.
Posted by Wendy on December 6, 2005 1:01 PM
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