I wrote this poem the last time I relapsed. I’ve dealt with some of the issues but not all. Some of this still applies like the shame and misperception of my body. EMDR has helped significantly and removed that need to scrub off my flesh, thank goodness. I am, at this point, too numb to feel the underlying pain and sadness.
My fear has even been minimized even though that is pretty much the basis of all this. The reason is that I’ve become intolerant to food altogether. That makes me nervous. I know I should be scared but again, too numb. I always feel just on this side of tears, like they are waiting to come out. Last night I finally managed some almond butter. Thank goodness because I play cards on Saturday. I was making mistakes and my energy was so low I’m sure it was noticed by all. I remember looking at the cards in my hand and not being able to discern the numbers and what they meant. Not good. I’ll be leaving for the program in 27 hours, none too soon. Thankfully I am hyper vigilant when I drive so I know I’ll be safe on the nearly 3 hour drive.
Her throat hurts, her body hurts and yet there she sits exhausted from poking and prodding all the fat and fleshy skin on her body.
Not thin enough, not yet… just a few more pounds or ten or twenty and than maybe, just maybe she’ll finally feel free of this burden of excess.
If she can just be thin enough… thin enough to just disappear, then no one can see the pain she is in, no one can pretend she’s such a great person, no one can be fooled by her bright smile and ever helpful loyalty.
Fools, why would anyone believe in her?
Don’t they know who she is? Don’t they know they are investing in a failed attempt of a person who is trying to be a normal, happy, well adjusted friend when in fact, she is none of that?
Can’t they see what a fraud she is? How much pain she is in?
She looks at her arms, pulls at the skin, too much skin, too much flesh. It’s gross, disgusting, how could she have ever thought she was thin? What was she thinking? Stupid girl, stupid to think she ever lost the weight she so desperately wanted to rid herself of. Stupid to think she would ever amount to anything, stupid to think she would ever be thin.
She presses the bulge that is her stomach. Fat. Fat, fat, fat. She turns sideways and sees her stomach sticking out like a pregnant woman. Fat. More fat. She looks at her legs and is horrified. She thought she had lost weight but she hasn’t. It’s all in her head, wishful thinking. They probably think she is delusional for getting help for anorexia… I mean, look at her! So fat, so fleshy. So disgusting.
She takes a shower and tries to scrub the fat and fleshy skin off of her. She uses a bristle scrub brush but the flesh is still there. She pulls at it and scrubs harder but nothing ever changes. Suddenly she feels clean… for a moment, then it goes away. The heat of the water feels so good but she knows it is fleeting. She knows that the cold blast of air will follow the heat, but that’s okay because shivering burns calories.
She hates herself. She knows she’ll always fail and hates herself even more for always trying. Why keep trying and trying and trying… it makes the inevitable failures so much more painful.
She wishes she was depressed because depression can be helped with medication but she’s not depressed, she’s just sad; sad at the life she has had, sad that her life was taken from her before it ever began; sad that no one really knows who she is; sad that she doesn’t even know who she is. Who is she?
She’s me and I am no one.