The Things We Hear

Those struggling with E.D. often grow accustomed to hearing the same things over and over again, from (usually) well-meaning people. Motivations aside, these words can be frustrating, hurtful, annoying, and also pretty funny at times. I've compiled a list of these, mainly for amusement rather than "watch what you say, lest ye offendeth me". Along with the list are my own personal responses to each.

1. "Oh my god, you're so *insert adjective in reference to my body*
      I still haven't mastered this response. Are they expecting an explanation, an expression of thanks...what? I'm often tempted to follow up with an observation about them as well. "Yes, and you wear shorts in the winter." Last Christmas, I had a family member say to me, "Oh my god, why do you weigh 7lbs?!" I just responded, "Well, I was born 8 lbs. Just trying to beat the ultimate goal, I suppose."

2. "Skinny bitch, probably eat whatever the hell you want!"
    First of all, calm yourself. Second of all, no. Not at all. This comment is always from someone who is clueless to the situation, usually said partially in jest, so I go easy on them. I'll say something along the lines of, "Well, not everything. The souls of my enemies are pretty calorific, I recently discovered. I mainly save those for special occasions."

3. "Are you insane? How can you..."
    Vices cost prices.  I've even had someone say this more out of admiration than concern. They tell me that they could never have my "self control."

4. "You know, you could die from this."
     Ah, the old shock therapy. Scare tactics. Not gonna lie, this mega makes me want to fake a heart attack in front of them. Or, if we're driving, threaten to pull a Thelma and Louise. I assure you, I'm aware of the risks. Which is why I'm seeking recovery.

5. "I knew someone who went through the exact same thing. Here's what you do..."
     Okay, this one usually comes from someone who means well. But the thing is, everyone is different. You can't assume that all E.D. are the same and can be treated as such. E.D. always stems from a deeper hurt. Also, there comes with this comment an assumption that their advice is wanted, when it generally isn't. Unless I say to you, "I don't know what to do, what do you think?" then I don't need you telling me of some girl you knew a while back that went through the same thing blah blah blah. No, she didn't.  We have a similar coping mechanism for wildly different situations in response to our personal demons. Even if our situations are close to identical, we're still individuals that require our own personal recovery tactics.

6. "There's more to life than looks, you know."
     Which is why my hair is in a ratty bun right now. Next.

7. "You're beautiful on the inside."
    Ew. Did you sneak into the hospital and steal my x-rays to keep hidden in your garage? You're dirty. And yet, I'm rather flattered. Thank you. (Side note: I don't actually have any x-rays at the hospital, so don't get any ideas, you.) (Another side note: Okay, the dentist has some on file. But come on, please don't. I haven't had my wisdom teeth for years.)

8. "Just eat."
    You mean it was so simple all along?

9. "Really? But you don't look sick. Don't anorexics usually..."
    Alright, this one gets to me. Despite what many people think, E.D. are in the classification of Invisible Illnesses. This is largely due to the fact that it's a mental illness, like depression or bipolar. The physical is merely a side effect of the mental distress being faced. Everyone's body responds differently to this.

10. "Is it that big of a deal?"
      Would you mind not using the word "big" around me? It's a trigger. I'm TrIgGeReD. Ha. Nah, I'm kidding, yeah it's a pretty big deal.

11. "THIS IS A BIG DEAL!"
      This reminds me of when you're talking to someone seriously about something serious, and they say, in a very serious tone, "This is serious." Seriously.

12. "Let me get this straight: you can *insert thing here*, but you can't eat a *insert food here*?"
      Yeah, that's it in a nutshell. (Side note: Now I'm craving nuts.) I like to imagine myself as some badass superhero, performing all these fleets of athleticism, a la Elektra, and then my evil foe whips out a grilled cheese and I crumble like the Wicked Witch.

13. "You think you're in control, but you're not. This whole thing is actually controlling you."
      I've heard this one a couple times. Both times, the people saying this tried bestowing it upon me like some big bubble of profundity. Stand by while I grab my needle... Okay. You aren't introducing some new thought into my head. I know this. This is why I'm frustrated. POP.
     
14. "YadayadayadaPROTEINyadayada."
      YadayadayadaCONGRATULATIONSYOU'VEBEENTOAWHOLEFOODSyada.

15. "*insert quoted Wikipedia info regarding metabolism, muscle mass, starvation mode, etc.*"
      Hey, I didn't know Google handed out degrees.

16. "Mind over matter!"
      Actually, dear, I disagree. I believe it's Matter over Mind. Because you see, it's my mind that's causing the issues, not the physical matter. While I'm well aware that tortellini won't kill me, my mind tells me otherwise. (Side note: I don't know. The last dish of tortellini I came across had a rather menacing aura. I think I even heard it growl when I turned away. Unless that was my stomach. Sorry.)

17. "You know, there are kids in Africa..."
      Ha. Sorry sorry, I had to put this here. No one's actually said this to me since I was a child. I was sleeping over at a friend's house and Mrs. Whateverhernamewas was rather offended that I hadn't finished the nasty shit dinner she made. I tried, I swear! I mean, I ate most of it. Yes, it. Because I don't know what it was supposed to be. Pretty sure I threw up later that night. Ah, those summer sleep overs...

18. "Why?"
     I ask myself this every day. Why? I wish I had a good answer for you, for myself, but I don't. All I can say is that it's a coping mechanism for me. It's the way I chose to deal with stress, heartache, lack of control, trauma, confusion etc. We all have these. The idea now is to try replacing E.D. with other ways to comfort myself, ways that will only help and not harm. I may never truly know the deep reasons of "why," but I'm doing what I can to fix the issue regardless.

Sometimes, the problems of others can seem mysterious or impossible to relate to. But the thing is, even if the issues are completely different, the feelings are similar. We've all felt anxieties, compulsions. We've all been embarrassed, confused, frustrated, ashamed. We've all felt lost. We've all felt that we're sinking, and that the only answer is to let the current take us all the way down. No one is exempt from these feelings. Empathize with those you may not understand, because if you stop and think about it, you probably understand them more than you realize.

One last thing! I'm now opening this up for discussion! If you have any questions for me, or topics you'd like me to discuss (doesn't have to be E.D. related), hit me up. Facebook message or comment on here.
Ciao!

The One You Feed

An old Cherokee legend begins with a man speaking to his grandson. He tells the child of the constant battle within his soul, the battle between two wolves. One wolf is good, filled with humility, joy, kindness, peace. The other wolf is evil. He is hatefulness, pride, sorrow, jealousy, rage. The two are at war nonstop. When the child asks which wolf will prevail, the old man replies, "The one you feed."

Nothing makes you question who you are more than an ED. (Side note: Okay, with the exception of amnesia). But I mean it. This confusion occurs on multiple levels: it fogs your brain and saps your energy, it attacks your mentality and hijacks your thoughts, it warps your perception of who you are. Personally, it numbed me in many ways, completely muffling my emotions. But if I focus enough, layers beneath, I feel them still. They cry out to me, begging me to wake up.

A war has been raging within me for years. In one corner is me, along with my goals, my desires, all the love and adventure in my heart. In the other corner is this illness. And let me tell you, it is strong. It is well-fed. And me? Well, I'm starving. Friends, I've been getting my ass kicked. My entire life has been restrained, bound up as a prisoner of war. I wish so badly that the solution were as simple as it seems. I don't even have to say it, do I?

So this has been my plan of attack- to bring this internal battle out into the light. In doing so, my army grows, my enemy recoils.

My wolf eats.

Surf's Up

It's hard to say how this issue started for me. It didn't happen all at once. Few things do. There are multiple factors that sparked this illness: anxiety, desire for control, hurtful words, societal standards. I could go on. Over the years, ED became a coping mechanism for me. It was a way for me to set myself a part from others, to feel that I was good at something. What I didn't realize was that setting myself apart was really just pure isolation. As the months, and eventually years passed, I felt more and more alone. I became a cast away on an island, watching my ship sink due to the holes I'd created myself.

It's at this point that I'm supposed to give the "downward spiral" analogy, but honestly, I don't see it that way. I don't view this situation, or life in general, in ups and downs. I see it more as ebbing and flowing. A wave. Sometimes the water is still and gentle. Other times it's rocky and harsh. Sometimes we see a wave coming and can prepare for impact, other times it knocks us back before we even know it's there. And then you swallow a gallon of sea water and think the stray piece of seaweed wrapping around your neck is some giant eel monster preparing to drag you to her lair and sacrifice you to the Giant Eel Monster Supreme and you just wish in your final moments of life you could at least get the sand out of your swimsuit. (Side note: I work at an aquarium, yet the best thing I could come up with was "giant eel monster." Fine. Anguilliformes. There. Another side note: Making this specific giant eel monster a female was an artistic choice that in no way represents my opinions, positive or negative, toward male or female giant eel monsters.)

Sorry. (Side note: Not really).

I've noticed that recovery isn't a linear path. There may not be a definite beginning and end. In fact, there probably won't be. Healing is a constant state. We need to remember that we never know what the next day holds. Some tomorrows will be rough, others will be peaceful days at sea. The important thing is to do everything in our power to insure that tomorrow will come. And to embrace everything we can of today. We always hear about the "calm before the storm," but be reminded that after each storm, there will be calm again.

(One more Side note: Have you ever noticed that eels always have that look on their faces like they're the dorky kid in middle school that just got invited to their first cool kid party? No? Alright then.)
Be well, friends.

Yeah, real f*cking helpful

*Ahoy, sailor's mouth ahead, lest ye be faint of heart.*

One of my first long-term therapists was a psychologist up in Fayetteville. Dr. C was a sixty-ish (emphasis on the ish) year old woman who wore long sleeved blouses buttoned all the way up to her neck and pantyhose under her slacks (even during Arkansas summers). Her light brown hair was cut into a bob and her glasses hung from a chain. She spoke with dignity, confidence, and even a hint of elegance. So naturally, it came as a surprise to me when she told me of a term she had coined- "fucking helpful".

Let me back up here. I had been expressing frustration I felt toward people who feel the need to give unwanted advice and information, especially if it's something I already knew. (Example: "You know, not eating is bad for you." "You know, Splenda is even worse for you than sugar." "You know, you know you know you know...") "YES. I know!" I screamed toward the figurative person I'd imagined up on the ceiling for some reason. A sly smile spread across Dr. C's face. "My family and I have a term for that. It's called being 'fucking helpful.' As in, 'gee thanks, real fucking helpful of you to point out.'"

I was stunned into silence, then couldn't hold the laughter back. To her, it probably looked like I'd finally snapped. I couldn't help it though. What she'd said just made so much sense. Fucking helpful. Isn't it perfect? Thanks for letting me know that my coffee addiction will only increase my anxiety, that's real fucking helpful. Thanks for your concern in regards to my pursuing theatre, that's real fucking helpful. (Side note: I was earning my theatre degree during this time.) What's that? My phone cracked because it didn't have a case? Wowza, thanks for letting me know, you sure are fucking helpful. (Side note: I've actually never cracked a phone. Fried one to death, yes, but cracked? Nope.) (Another side note: I've never in my life actually said "wowza". Okay, never mind, I just did. Alone in my room. In the quiet. It left me feeling kind of gross for some reason. Anyway...)

So yeah, fucking helpful. Don't get me wrong, Santa's little fucking helpers sometimes mean well. They see a concern and feel the need to speak up. Other times, they just want to hear themselves talk. Depends on the person, I suppose. And another thing, we all do this at times. No one is immune to Fuckingus Helpfulitis. But for the love of, I don't know, cheese? For the love of cheese? Yeah, that works. For the love of cheese, get vaccinated. Be mindful.

What if, instead of talking talking talking, we just listened? Take a step back and remember that we are only in control of ourselves, and our own actions. People can talk all they want, but we get to choose how we live, what we eat, what goals we pursue etc. And yes, we know that the car stopped in the middle of the road because it needs gasoline to run. We know. And if we don't know, let us figure it out for ourselves.

Argh.

Allies Unite!

Bono said it best: Sometimes you can't make it on your own. I don't think he's referring to fried rice, which I've tried and failed to make so many times that even my garbage disposal is like, "Lady, come on. Don't make us eat this. Please." I like to think of myself as an independent person. I prefer to do as much as I can for myself. In high school, I didn't want my sweetheart carrying my books in the hallway. In college, I worked my arse off to earn a scholarship so my tuition would be covered. Part-time jobs were fun because they gave a real sense of accomplishment, even if the accomplishment was convincing movie theater goers that the popcorn was fresh (Side note: it wasn't.).

Blah blah blah examples. Here's the truth: I'm struggling, and have been for many years now. Over time, I've learned to disguise these troubles, to cope with them, to convince myself that they weren't that serious and that I, Superwoman, could conquer anything. And that I didn't need the help of anyone. It's tough to admit, but it's the stigma that gets me. I fear being seen as weak, as petty, as ungrateful for all the beauty and love that fills my life. The thing is, I don't turn these feelings outwardly toward others. In fact, I admire people who ask for help, honest people who admit they're stuck or sinking. I fear the stigma that I don't even believe in. So why do I judge myself so harshly? Anyone else out there do that? (Please, for the love of Guac, can I get an AMEN.)

I can no longer live in fear. Fear of judgement, of failure, of change. Of the Unknown. Especially when help is out there, within my reach. I've dealt with depression and anxiety for a large part of my life. Most of us have, if we're being honest. Whether it's a relationship gone sour, a tough day at work, or an unlucky roll of the genetic dice, we can all relate to these feelings. (Side note: if our lives are based on "rolling of the dice", does that make God the Dungeon Master?)

I've sought various forms of treatment over the years, some of it quite beneficial. My current therapist in Chicago is an absolute rock star that deserves whatever the Tony award for therapists is. (Side note: why are there not awards for therapists? They deal with our bullshit daily, shouldn't they at least get a plaque acknowledging this, along with a picture on the cover of Psychology Today of them awkwardly posing with a banana? Why a banana? I don't know, that's not the point. None of this is. Are you still reading this? Then allow me to continue...)

The point is that I need help. None of my old tricks work anymore. Telling myself that I'm fine and can do this on my own no longer rings true. I cannot continue to crawl and convince myself I'm flying. I'm leaving Chicago and going back to Arkansas to be closer to friends and family, and to finally receive special treatment for this thorn in my side. Hell, it's hardly a thorn. I think of it more as an active grenade I've clung to for years, begging my trembling hands not to fail me. I'm asking my dear friends and allies to join me in the fight. Screw the stigma. If you need help, get help. Be honest with yourself, you deserve it. It's taken me a long time to be honest with myself. And to my friends. I've lied, I've hidden, I've given every excuse in the book to save face. Here I am.

I'm Leah, and I have an eating disorder. Baby's got blue skies up ahead.