Essay I wrote a year ago for potential compilation of ED essays- current thoughts to follow
Over my years (and years) of treatment for bulimia there were many ways that I made sense of my disorder- I thought I was trying to gain control of my life in the only way I felt I could. I understood it as a good girl’s means of rebellion. I thought about my disorder as a way to vomit up stress and demands, a pressure valve of sorts. In fact, for an art show in college (majoring in art history with a visual arts concentration at an expensive liberal arts college – another means of rebellion? My parents probably thought so) I created an altar to a toilet complete with a pillow with knee prints set in resin. Swirling down the toilet were all the demands and pressuring comments- both externally and internally imposed. Make no mistake about it- a lot of the pressure was internally imposed- I’m not the first nor last overachiever to have an eating disorder. But as I reflect on my years of binging and purging and the years since then I have come to believe that all of these important and real factors- rebellion, control, pressure- are triggers but they don’t really explain it. Maybe because these are the things I was able to work out.
I have been meaning to write this essay for months and I just never found the time. Oh, I found time to watch bad TV and read all of the 7th Harry Potter in one weekend. Surfing the internet and sitting on the beach- those things I managed to make time to get done. But this essay just sat on my “to do” list gathering dust. I just didn’t want to write it. While I may be a master procrastinator and I know sometimes wasting time is just wasting time, I also have spent enough time (and enough of my parent’s and my money) to know that I avoid doing things that make me anxious. So why was writing this essay making me anxious? I suppose I could have told myself that it was hard to write about what if felt like to have an eating disorder since it has been years since I was in the throes of it but I know that while I may not have made myself throw up in a long time it is not so far from me. Part of me, a big part of me, still thinks of it as a rational solution – you paint your nails a color you don’t like and you remove the polish or you eat more than you think you should have so you get rid of the food—seems logical enough.
As I was talking to a friend about a recent emotional upheaval, I referenced my eating disorder and I started to cry. I realized that I was crying because of those eating disorder issues that I was talking about are as relevant now as they were then. And that is why I didn’t want to write about it- I didn’t want to write about it because the core issues – not the triggers but the thrust of it for me- are still present. I’m still working those issues out.
Issues relating to feeling alone and the paradoxical pain of feeling connected and issues relating to a self-perpetuating alienation, issues relating to the anxiety attached to isolation and connection. Those are the ones that I haven’t gotten all figured out yet. I haven’t figured out how to really connect with other people in a way that is both meaningful and comfortable. I think this was the true purpose of my bulimia- dampening down feelings, especially these types of feelings. The feelings that if someone really knew me then I wouldn’t measure up, not in some over-achiever sense but in some basic sense of being “less than”. I was scared for so long to let people in because I was sure deep down they would find me wanting. So I threw up as a means of regulating my affect and it worked. After I threw up, all I could feel was lonely but it was a self-imposed loneliness and that made all the difference.
So what now? Now I am “cured” or “in remission” or any words that you want to use to say that I don’t make myself purge on a regular basis. And the other stuff…well, I’m working it out. I’m trying to let people in and trust that they will still love me when they see “the real me”. I think the first step is deciding that I love me enough, I know that I am not “less than” anything. Once I really know that I might trust other people to know it too.
I have been meaning to write this essay for months and I just never found the time. Oh, I found time to watch bad TV and read all of the 7th Harry Potter in one weekend. Surfing the internet and sitting on the beach- those things I managed to make time to get done. But this essay just sat on my “to do” list gathering dust. I just didn’t want to write it. While I may be a master procrastinator and I know sometimes wasting time is just wasting time, I also have spent enough time (and enough of my parent’s and my money) to know that I avoid doing things that make me anxious. So why was writing this essay making me anxious? I suppose I could have told myself that it was hard to write about what if felt like to have an eating disorder since it has been years since I was in the throes of it but I know that while I may not have made myself throw up in a long time it is not so far from me. Part of me, a big part of me, still thinks of it as a rational solution – you paint your nails a color you don’t like and you remove the polish or you eat more than you think you should have so you get rid of the food—seems logical enough.
As I was talking to a friend about a recent emotional upheaval, I referenced my eating disorder and I started to cry. I realized that I was crying because of those eating disorder issues that I was talking about are as relevant now as they were then. And that is why I didn’t want to write about it- I didn’t want to write about it because the core issues – not the triggers but the thrust of it for me- are still present. I’m still working those issues out.
Issues relating to feeling alone and the paradoxical pain of feeling connected and issues relating to a self-perpetuating alienation, issues relating to the anxiety attached to isolation and connection. Those are the ones that I haven’t gotten all figured out yet. I haven’t figured out how to really connect with other people in a way that is both meaningful and comfortable. I think this was the true purpose of my bulimia- dampening down feelings, especially these types of feelings. The feelings that if someone really knew me then I wouldn’t measure up, not in some over-achiever sense but in some basic sense of being “less than”. I was scared for so long to let people in because I was sure deep down they would find me wanting. So I threw up as a means of regulating my affect and it worked. After I threw up, all I could feel was lonely but it was a self-imposed loneliness and that made all the difference.
So what now? Now I am “cured” or “in remission” or any words that you want to use to say that I don’t make myself purge on a regular basis. And the other stuff…well, I’m working it out. I’m trying to let people in and trust that they will still love me when they see “the real me”. I think the first step is deciding that I love me enough, I know that I am not “less than” anything. Once I really know that I might trust other people to know it too.
posted by Zoe at 6:57 AM
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