Tag Archives: Body dysmorphia

Holes

E074ADCC-FBCF-4875-B649-5B91BC5CB490.jpeg

I usually dread when I wake up in the morning.  Mostly because my thoughts begin to race as soon as cognition begins.   Fears trickle in slowly at first, a few drops at a time.  Then it’s like a deluge, as if a faucet was turned on in my head.  Will things ever be “good” I wonder?  Will I ever feel happy and free?  Will I ever love myself? Will I ever accept myself? Can I ever forgive myself?  Then depression  sets in.

I lead a very solitary life.  Most days the only people I see are my kids and my fiancé.   I isolate a lot because of how bad I look.

The weight gain from this food addiction has made me want to hide from the world.  I look like bloody hell.   My teenager tells me this on occasion.  Half of me is hurt and and half of me is proud that he tells the truth.  Then he says he’s sorry when he sees my eyes look down at the floor.    I’m not sure whether to believe he’s sorry for what he said,  I think he just feels bad that it hurt me.

It’s difficult to find the motivation to get up in the morning and face the day.  I have a lot of anxiety about all the things that are going wrong in my life and all the things that are about to go wrong.   I want to reflexively face all of them the same way, with food.

Looking in the mirror is not something I want to do anymore because I feel a lot of shame about how I look.    I’m ashamed about it but also know I’ve done this to myself.  So don’t feel I have any right to wallow in pity.

I am destroying my body for food but still can’t stop no matter how hard I try.   It’s so fucked up.    Maybe the answer is to be locked up somewhere for 28 days.

Talking in therapy about it just isn’t doing jack shit.    The therapist is nice but she is ill equipped to help me.  I end up telling her jokes to pass the time.  I already know that my fucked up childhood is where my unhealthy relationship with food began.  I was alone a lot as a kid, desperate for love and attention.  I didn’t get enough of either.  Instead I got abused.   Holes developed in my heart.

As a child I remember family members giving me yummy treats when I was having a hard day.  The same family I wanted to love me.  It was then an unhealthy relationship with food was born.

At some later point rather incidentally, I found myself turning to food when I became upset,  for comfort.  I guess it was like a vicarious way of having a connection with them through eating the food they gave me.  Their presence was unpredictable.   The food that was in my house however, was always at the ready.

It’s been decades of livimg this way.

Eating is what I want to do all day long.   So I eat whenever I can.  If people are around and watching, I will sneak it.   Food always makes me happy.    It helps me forget about all the shame, anxiety, and depression I have in my life.  It’s like it takes me to a better place even if it’s just for a little while.   Everything seems like it will be okay but it’s only lasts as long as I’m eating.   As soon as I stop the bad feelings return, plus a stomachache.   At the same time I know that food addiction is part of the reason why my life is like this.  The more I eat, the worse it gets.

Every addict has the voice of an angel or getting healthier and a devil or staying in the addiction on either shoulder.   So far, the food addiction is winning.

I know that I am killing myself with food.    I don’t want to get sicker but I’m losing hope with this battle.

 

 

 


In the Big house

metal prison bars with handcuffs on black background

In addition to the clinical diagnosis of OCD I received at 19, I know I have body dysmorphia as well.  This is where when you look in the mirror you see a very distorted body image of yourself which is not accurate.  They are not mutually exclusive but can be comorbid diagnoses.   I know I look horrible, but when I point out others who I believe to which I look similar; they say “no way, that it’s simply not true.”  That I am projecting and exaggerating my fears rather than reality .   That is what I see? It isn’t a projection!

So I’m nearly 30 days in on this diet and it feels like I’m stuck in some sort of TV episode of ‘60 Days In’ meets ‘My 600 lb.life.‘

I’m not sure how I can keep doing this same old same old, ad nauseum, ad infinitum?  The old me lived for being alone in a room with my junk food freebasing a box of Little Debbies.    Now? Exercise is supposed to blow my dress back.  Well guess what.  It doesn’t.  It’s work.  And those neural pathways haven’t been created yet so it feels like drudgery.

Something weird has shifted though.  Other than eating Cheetos for that one discrete time, I seem to have developed the old food aversions that I had back a child.  Where I became so emaciated the doctor threatened to put a g-tube in me.

Fears related to food are cropping up all over again.  The same exact fears that caused my anorexia to begin at around age 10-11 years old.   I have severe OCD and get skeeved out pretty easily by a lot of foods.  I am an extremely picky eater.   If I cannot eat something that tastes palatable, I often opt to starve and just skip meals altogether.

It seems my dream of finding a better more healthy relationship with food is slipping away fast.

I feel frustrated.  I don’t know what belies this whole eating disorder and my therapist is not very helpful or insightful one bit.

I hope everyone out there who is on their own diet is able to stick with whatever they are doing.   Send me encouraging thoughts and prayers if you would!

‘Cause right now I’ve got the jailhouse blues.

 


The ruler

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.

It’s insanity.

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.

 


%d bloggers like this: