My eating disorder did not just come out
of nowhere. As much as people would like to think that I simply decided one day that I
wanted to be skinny, I’m here to set the record straight as that is certainly not
what happened. The hardest part about this disorder is that due to commorbidity there are so many
components to it; Depression, anxiety, agoraphobia, OCD, PTSD. I have a need to
cope with all of my illnesses and anorexia just seems to be recycled over and
over along with a laundry list of other self harm behaviors. People tell me “Stop
with this “I’m fat shit, you are not fat and you never will be, but what you
are is self - absorbed”. These people do not understand that my desire to be
thin is a product of a much greater issue. Thinness represents a sense of
invisibility that I can’t seem to accomplish with these curves and long
muscular legs. My eating disorder serves me in many ways. One way in which it does is by
loving me while certainpeople around me lack understanding and therefore having no desire to support me, not knowing that by doing this they are only validating the thought that
caused this disorder in the first place. “I’m unworthy, damaged and it would be
easiest for not only me, but everyone else if I just became invisible.”
The thought that I need to be
invisible seems to be the most common of themes coming from my mouth in every
group. In body- image we discuss why being thin is so important. In Psychotherapy,
we discuss why we feel we deserve to damage our bodies in the ways we have
been. And during skills groups we talk about other ways to cope with the
feelings and my answer and reaction to it all is that I am disgusting, I don’t
deserve to eat, or to be seen because of having been raped. By continuing my
eating disorder, I am finally taking back control and helping prevent the
undeniable attraction that predators have for me. Weight to me signifies the
pounds of filth my body has gathered from random strangers, it also causes my
curves to dissipate without me having to wear baggy clothes, because of course
I want my fellow sisters to approve of my fashion sense and the work that I so
carefully put into it.
Throwing up my middle finger and
giving men what I thought was the evil eye proved to be of no deterrent as most
of them either got angry and hurt me with their words or threatened me. Now every
time I think I have the courage to stand up for myself I shrink back into the
same headspace I was in when I was raped saying to myself “I am no good, just
give up the fight”. The last man I trusted took notice of the scars on my arms,
he asked me why I would do that to myself. I explained to him that I had been
hurt in the past and fed the idea during both my childhood and
adulthood that by men I was not worth anything. This message was a result of outrageous actions men took
against my body, and all without permission or acceptance. I thought he
understood and perhaps even had some empathy, you know, because he was my
friend. Just as soon as I crawled over him facing the window to go to sleep he
woke me up with a kiss. I thought to myself, that was fine. I was drunk and
impaired and at that moment making out was okay. But we didn’t stay at first
base, he actually decided he was going to be MVP and run to 2nd and
3rd and I, still unsure if that was what I wanted laid still in
consideration of how far this game should go. “Do you have a condom?” he asked.
“No, I don’t, but I don’t want to have sex.” As I am writing this now my
mind is flooding with memories of things I forgot before when giving my
statement. It’s unsettling, knowing that something that happened to your body
can be erased in an instant as a means of protection, but yet it backfires
because you don’t remember all the details to tell the investigator. For me at
least, that’s how it goes down. Anyway, I rolled over to the other side ready
to go to sleep when he wrapped his arms around my stomach and chest and
attempted to insert his penis inside of me. My roommates were home and just as
quickly as he had run to home base, my mind had run to shame and guilt, therefore I
refused to scream for help. But for the second time in my life I fought. “Stop”
I then shuddered his name in fear “Please stop, I don’t want to have sex!” I cried and he
ignored me. All I could do was hold my legs together as tight as possible with
hopes he wouldn’t protrude through my almighty barricade. But it hurt, he tore
me, not just physically but mentally, I was no longer whole.
That’s when my agoraphobia was at
its worst. Struggling with multiple diagnosis already this just
magnified each one on a whole new level and nobody could reach me. I was never
hungry and I began weighing in every day. It didn't just stop there. I was also cutting my breast and thighs so they
would be a turn off to the next man whome ever removed my clothes. Since I was
already not eating there was no point in going to the store. Luckily, at the
very least I was able to make the walk to my doctors and counselors offices,
but that was the extent of my adventures for 3 weeks. I became a hobbit in my
own house. I left my room to pee and refill my glass with wine. I drank and
slept and drank and slept until there was no more money for alcohol. I was left
with seroquil and a tainted bed filled the unbenign memories.
My job seemed to provide me with some
relief, well until I purposely overdosed on accident. If that’s not an oxymoron
I don’t know what is. What I am saying is I drank a lot and took extra sleeping
pills in attempt to knock myself out for the next 18 hours with hopes of
escaping flashbacks and such, but ended up actually harming myself in the
process and landing in the ICU. Oops. I ended up in the psych ward which was loud
and over stimulating. I went from being locked in my bedroom sporadically
peeking out the window to make sure he wasn’t there to being locked up with a
bunch of other people with mental health issues. I was afraid of everyone. The
screaming from other patients caused a chain reaction within myself. First I would freeze where i was, then sit down, and then curl up
in a ball crying and rocking back and forth. The rocking had been a new-found
comfort the last few weeks. It was my go to when I became distraught which was not often, but always spontaneous. My friends didn’t understand
it and it worried them. To be quite honest it worried me a little as well. How
would I possibly make it in the real world? I mean I couldn’t stay in my room
forever. The staff at the hospital continuously told me “you have to eat, it’s part
of life” and when I still refused they began using food as a bargaining tool.
They obviously didn’t get it, I didn’t believe I deserved food. “So, let me get
this straight, you want me to eat something I don’t deserve in order to use the
computer which I also don’t deserve?” Funny.
I wasn’t allowed to go home despite
not being suicidal. The hospital felt I needed additional support for my eating
disorder and although they were right, they could lead a girl to treatment, but
you can’t make her eat. Every day after program I would come back to the
apartments and purge my food. On the weekends I would work the night shift at
hospice and then come home and sleep the day away. Between all of those
symptoms I wasn’t gaining any weight. I also was refusing to participate in
groups and hiding food whenever I got the chance. No progress was being made
because I was far from ready. In my mind, even to this day every bite I take is
like fighting with the devil. I am back in treatment and this time all on my accord. At each meal I am taking a step towards a life I don’t
believe I deserve, simply because of that tiny whisper in my ear telling me that
perhaps when my brain is nourished, I might for once believe that I am enough.
For now, I have accepted the idea that I may struggle with all these negative
beliefs, but for the sake of faith I will mechanically eat and participate
fully on this slow walk to recovery even though each mental illness I suffer
from keeps me safe from the world which is always unknown. The rape that occurred
only validates the lack of self -worth I already had, but many have told me
that it’s up to me to change my thoughts and that I have a choice whether or
not to believe them. Much easier said than done. But just a little tip for
those reading this, eating disorders are not clear as glass, they go way
beneath the surface, and as much as food may be serving a purpose for you, not
eating is serving a purpose for someone else. Just chew on it. No pun intended.
©Kimberly Edwards
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