Nearly every morning for as long as I can remember, I have stepped on a scale to measure how much I weigh.
and the number that is displayed ends up dictating my self-worth.
Strange I know, that a number should have that sort of power over me.
I have friends whose net worth equals their self-worth and I often tell them, that they are so much more beyond their possessions, their material things.
I preach about how the intangibles in life: health, family and good friends have the most value.
But I feel like a charlatan, because there I am allowing a scale to control me.
Most days, in one way or another I am obsessing about food. How to avoid it or how to get rid of it. Food is on my mind in a really screwed up way.
Devising ways I won’t binge. Getting rid of food that I consumed if I do. Wishing I could eat and then feeling guilty for wanting to. Feeling really good when I am not eating. Feeling in control, clean, like the world is right. Figuring out calorie exchanges. Feeling desperate and despairing when I am in the food. Feeling bad, dirty, out of control, ashamed, like nothing will ever be right again.
I wonder what it’s like to be normal.
Then when I am out in the world I am constantly looking at other women. Comparing myself to every woman I see and how I measure up.
But I never do, as the case usually is.
How my outsides are not good enough.
The obsession is so gripping and powerful.
I hate it.
I don’t know life any other way. My crazy thoughts are all I’ve ever known.
Why must this blasted scale be the ruler, a way to measure if I am good or bad? If my day will be a good one or a bad once based on the number that I see. I have been this way since I was around 13 years old.
I am fortunate that I have only been hospitalized once for this. The eating disorder itself has morphed over the years. From anorexia in adolescence to bulimerexia by my twenties. Somewhere in between I had picked up a new thing this CHSP, Chewing and spitting my food out.
I have never known life with a healthy reltionship to food.
I have extreme body dysmorphia. The mirror still is my enemy. No matter what other people see, when I look in the mirror I see every flaw, imperfection, amplified ten thousand times. Be it cellulite or acne, a hair out of place. I remember changing outfits several times because everything just looked bad. I looked bad. This makes me want to just isolate. Which I often do.
Its not to do with being a vain person. It’s to do with feeling so inadequate and disgusting that I can’t stand how I look. When I look into the mirror it’s like a fun house mirror which distorts how I look to me. I’m not sure if it’s neurological or what, but it makes me see things that others don’t.
Every eating plan I get on is a struggle because my perfectionist ways interfere and if I deviate from the plan, it sends me into a spiral. I can teeter into punitive self-punishing behaviors.
The only other thing about having an eating disorder is the shame and isolation that keeps me silent about it. It’s painful.
Some days are better than others. I want to believe that one day I will find acceptance with my outsides. I have a hunch it has a lot to do with my trauma past. I probably need to tell Lee about this too. Just one more thing to work on….
Some days it just feels hopeless.