I may trigger. I often offend. oh well…
I’m starting to wonder how many grown women are just a powder keg full of relapse. You hear the words anorexia, bulimia or eating disorder; and most people think of teenagers, not grown women.
I have a condition, whatever you want to call it. TN/Trigeminal Neuralgia. When it gets pissy I’d rather be dead than chew.
This summer, it was really hot. Extreme temperatures and weather changes make it worse, ( this crazy winter has sucked just as hard ); and it began to hurt to eat much of the time. I then began to fear eating because it might bring on that pain. Ever dread pain? Fear the next attack? Not a lot scares me. This shit does.
After not eating much of anything but soup, ice cream, oatmeal and shakes because they are soft (and about the only soft stuff I like), I found I was not hungry anymore. My weight started to fall. Sure I could stand to lose some pounds. What woman doesn’t think that?
What I did next was probably the equivalent of a recovering alcoholic taking a drink…I bought a scale. Watching the numbers fall made me feel better. It was also the only thing I was in control of at that time.
I was just doing my thing, it came so natural to me, just getting my shit together, and mentally feeling so much better…..
I always told myself you had to have been either an abused child, have had weight issues or wanted to be pretty to be “one of them.”
I was far from being abused in any way. I had a good childhood. Weight issues? Not really, I was “just a picky eater.” My mom says so. *nods head* Everyone who knows me agrees. Just ask them. *nods head again* Pretty? I wanted to be a linebacker when I grew up. So no way was I one of them.
Mom tried to pry my mouth open with a spoon to feed me when I was two. I remember it. Bananas. She was worried that I would not eat fruit & veggies. I won. I’ve never eaten fruit since. Well…does pizza sauce count?Veggies? Mashed potatoes count…don’t they?
I was never one of them. I didn’t go and hide behind a giant, potted plant and proceed to puke my dinner into it. I was short, no way was I delusional enough to think I was going to starve myself into becoming a fashion model. I had stopped growing by the 7th grade. So much for my career in the NFL.
I wasn’t one of them.
Never mind that I can tell you the exact number of calories in:
I can tell you the number of calories in any serving of any food I will eat.
Key word “will” ….I’ve always been “picky”
Just go eat a sandwich you vain bitch.
I’ve gone back to my old hairdresser. She knows how to trim the uneven, thinning parts and make them look good.
She is right. We both have had some weird assed shit. We also have been handed some damn good excuses. Maybe that is for the best, since we haven’t had to become that good at lying just yet.
Only to ourselves.
I’m not one of them. Everyone I know says I’m not.
It seems as if I came pre-packaged with every built-in excuse in the world. I have always been small, short for my age…so it just “ didn’t take a lot to fill me up “….I’ve always “ been picky “…….. and now….” I don’t feel well.”I’ve had many stretches of “looking normal” as an adult. Not hard to do when you’re short…just gain 5 pounds, it looks like 10…wear over sized clothes….I am also a master of the light layer trick. No one has ever really questioned it.
Not even me. It was just the way I have always been. I controlled the food. It didn’t control me.
When something that was once so controllable and comforting finally got out of my control….when my last coping mechanism fucked me in the ass. ..that was when I was forced to question myself.
My hair, my nails…and now my once muscular calves, had lost two inches. Everything had gone to shit within three months. I could not ignore that. I am not an idiot. My heart is also a muscle. Fuckin-A….My body was starting to feed off itself. Oops. Hello… Reality!? At least my mother’s blinders were still working, “I didn’t feel well” held up when she called me emaciated looking. WTF? I do not know how to receive a compliment; but can come up with an excuse on the spot for anything as to not disappoint….but I digress…
“Just a minor glitch….a momentary loss of control….it’s just my age dammit….lost it too fast….I can fix this…just eat a bit more”
I got a bit worried when, for the first time I found I could not force myself to swallow food I knew I needed…chewing and spitting it out, not just some of it, like usual; but every fuckin bite….cooking it and dumping it down the sink…..I was not hungry. I could not eat. When I finally did manage to swallow a few bites, it sat in my stomach and hurt. It was as if my stomach had forgotten what the fuck to do with it.
It had never gotten that bad before. I could always control the food. WTF? If this was fucked, then everything was. Not me. Everything.
Well now what?
a BPChick or two….A.K.A. the f…armerz
C, The Feline here, and Hope our frequent commenter:
They hit me, and hit me, and hit me until I was bloody with the words.
“It’s not about the food”
Okay, I gave em that much. What was it then?
I still do not know.
I don’t think it’s just about body, control, love, abuse or any one of those things.I think everyone is different.
It could be a combination. It could be different each time, with each relapse.
I think it may just be my version of a bottle of alcohol.
Why do people drink, gamble, overeat…etc? Comfort? To feel good? Escape the self hate the next day brings? Courage? To relieve stress? To cope?
I don’t know. It actually doesn’t matter. Not to me. It’s too late to look for reasons. I quit looking stuff up, most of it sucked. I do think the “why” matters to the younger ones.
Perhaps if they can understand the why while they are young, they’ll not be relapses waiting to happen as adults.
By the way, I had a birthday during the time I could not bring myself to swallow anything. I woke up alone in the early morning hours…around 4a.m. What could I give myself for my birthday? “How about some damn food d? Try it again!”What to have? It just popped into my head…C had recently developed a Belgian Waffle IHOP habit. I hadn’t had them in years. I was not going to drive there alone at 4a.m., it probably wasn’t open on Christmas anyway. I dug out my old, Belgian waffle iron and a recipe. “I can do this.” I needed someone there while I tried. I knew where to go for some company at that hour of the morning. At the f…arm, my friends come from all over the world.
and that morning, I found Hope.
I didn’t even mess up the keyboard that much.
I hope she doesn’t mind; but this was buried deep within an old post, so I brought it out.
It’s too good to be buried.
Then I slapped some shit of my own in. As you can see, I still don’t get it, as it’s all over the place; but you can count me in.
I am one of you.
I MUST BE A BAD ANOREXIC
I must be a bad anorexic
I once was the perfect restrictor
That I’m the best anorexic
But still my damned anorexia
I closed my eyes in the darkness
I must be a bad anorexic, I thought
©Cat Ginn ‘05
Stare into the mirror
More fine hairs
Piles of clothes
Clothes that I liked
Wiping the tears
I must find something
It protects me from stares
I wipe my tears
I’m tired of hurting
I don’t want your pity
I sure don’t deserve
Like everything else
It’s safe to be small
It means that I long
I can’t allow it
Needing love hurts
© ~d, 08
**edit** I added a link to some ED naming contest “winners” **
** I personally like: Undeserving Complex or Deprivation Addiction.
I really like the “addiction” aspect. I really hate the word “disorder”
Filed under: Anorexia Nervosa, Bulimia, Eating Disorders, adult anorexia, anorexia, anorexia relapse, life, personal, trigeminal neuralgia | Tagged: Anorexia Nervosa, Eating Disorders, disordered eating, restrictive anorexia nervosa, adult anorexia, Bulimia, picky eating, ED, anorexic lanugo, anorexia