It had been about 9 months since I had seen my outpatient dietitian. Nine months of intense physical, emotional, and spiritual warfare. Nine months of wondering if there really is a light at the end of the tunnel...or if this eating disorder will always be a weight resting heavy upon my shoulders, contributing it's opinion to every bite I take and reflection of myself I see. I got into her office and hardly remembered the girl I was all the months ago. She was worn out and lifeless. She was depleted of hope, nutrition, and passion. She was a mere skeleton of the person I once was. She was hallow.
I have a tendency to look back with nostalgia at the size of pants I used to wear and the bones that proved to the world that I was strong, self disciplined, and in control. I remember the lack of emotion with envy, wishing I could feel the rush of a run with nothing in me to burn...the physical pain that i could push past, making it appear that nothing could touch me...that I was more powerful then the average person. I didn't need the life essential things most people don't have the self discipline to resist. I look back with pride at my ability to tell myself what I could or could not have...even when my body depended on those things to sustain life. I look back thinking how powerful I must have felt. How strong. How free. Its then that the little voice of truth, which longs to be a roar, comes in to remind me that things weren't quite as beautiful as I optimistically recall. I can choose to walk back into the seduction of an abusive lover who claims things have changed...or I can choose to remember the black eyes and broken ribs and see that the word love meant nothing at all. Promises of adoration tangled around thorns and bruises can only leave you feeling ashamed and abandoned. I got to the point where the eating disorder didn't even need to open it's mouth. It's demeaning words had birthed something within me that grew with each passing day...it's words became my words...it's silent threats screamed at my weakness. "You disgusting whore. You pretend to be pure and naive when really your body has brought grown men to arousal since you were a child. You worthless piece of shit...you can only hope to hide within the flesh, the skin that hides your filth. All you have to offer is a pretty face... if they knew the truth no one would want you...no one would love you...and really who could blame them? Why would anyone choose the worn down ugly prostitute when they could have someone beautiful...someone worth loving. If you eat they will see your weakness. Your arms will grow and your checks will swell and they will look at you with pity, with disgust. They will hide their children from you hoping you don't rub off on their family. I am the only thing that gives you a chance to start over...to forget your past and to become desirable, to earn love. I watch your calories. I know if you take even a bit of something you aren't allowed to have. I am always watching and you will never know when I will appear to expose you. You need me to live, to breath, to survive."
I would be lying if I said I still don't glance over my shoulder in fear from time to time...watching for it's truth to become reality. But it's voice has started to weaken...the food I place in my stomach each day seems to starve it of power, as though it was feeding off of my emptiness. The scary thing about returning to my dietitians office today was to hear her point out the areas where I still allow it to speak. She can recognize it's voice...when I have genuinely convinced myself that I have denounced all its lies, or at least that I am aware when I am speaking them as truth. There is a feeling of powerlessness that comes when I realize that I am still at times being deceived by it's sweet whispers... when it is insisting that it has changed. "It's ok," I genuinely explain to my dietitian. "It had said it will only give me good things and it won't demand anything from me anymore. It just wants to still be a small part of my life...I mean after all, it loves me." It's a lie she says boldly. You can't have both. She points out contradictions in what it says it will do and reminds me that with the eating disorder it really is all or nothing. I agree with her in frustration, ashamed that I fell for its lies once more. She reminds me how far I have come in 9 months...and that being able to really hear and act based on accurate perspective of reality is progress. And she is right. Long term change doesn't come in leaps and bounds. The times I grow the most are the times I have to walk each step, giving me a visual reminder of why I am walking away in the first place. Each step gives me the opportunity to make the decision once more to keep moving forward. The more often I make the decision, the more empowered I am to see that I have a choice...and that there is power in that alone. Anorexia will never give me strength. Strength comes from finding that I have a voice...and that true love will never take that voice away.
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