Jeremy asked me the other night
what I fantasize about. And not in the “whips and chains” context either! But truly
the…what do you think about…dream about…aspire for aspect. It caught me off
guard…and left me tongue tied. I honestly didn’t even know how to answer the question. When I was young I dreamt
about turning 13… 18…and finally 21…years old. Now that those dates have come and gone,
I don’t even remember what I was so excited about! I dreamt about marriage and
the man I would marry…the children I would once have. After watching my
parent’s divorce after 25 years of marriage, my heart is now unsure of that dream, overcome by the fear and doubt that someone could ever love me forever after. I dreamt of once being a singer, a dancer, an actress, the first white
Oprah. And of course, as I grew and matured, realized that would not be
happening any time soon. And as I near the beginning of my Senior year of
college and contemplate what is next for me (Basically as the big, bad GRE
looms ahead) I question if I can get a good score on this thing, get into grad
school (let alone pay for it) and what I will do after, where I will live, how
I will make something of myself. All of this just makes me anxious. I know the
Lord has it all in His plans…that worrying about it will do nothing, but it
sure is easy to fall into complacency when faced with studying for the GRE,
working on grad school assignments, and getting pumped for school in the fall.
When I truly think about it and am honest with myself, my fantasies since I was
12 years old…and still to this day, swarm around my ED. All the time. What to
eat, the gym, getting smaller, fitting into smaller sizes, shrinking away into
oblivion to where I am in control of my body and contentedly numb. All the
anxiety. The sadness. And depression. It all just melts together into one outlet: my
eating disorder. Starvation. Endless exercising. Self-harm. Now, that I have a
full time job, a loving relationship, and career that I am trying to get
into…the time for acting out in my compulsions has been cut down drastically. I
know this is a good thing. In fact, today marks exactly a year that I have been home for
a year. A year in Recovery. I never thought I would say that, let alone live to see it. But praise the Lord, this last winter, I didn’t make my annual pilgrimage down
to Arizona like I had for the last 3 years to visit treatment. I am surviving. But
I still feel like I am barely holding on emotionally. I feel trapped inside a
body that isn’t mine. Caught inside a body with a mouth that cannot express how alone
I feel because no one understands the sick thoughts I have. And if I even tried
to verbally pronounce them, I would sound crazy. I feel betrayed by hunger and
the inevitable need and desire to eat. And not just lettuce and carrot
sticks…but real, life giving food. I feel weak. I feel
tired. Because all I fantasize about when I am brutally honest with myself is that sick
body. How it felt, looked, how comfortable, safe, and secure it was to reside
within a shell of skin and bone.
Jeremy also pointed out that I have
seemed cranky lately, not my bubbly silly old self. I have tried to hide that
lovely reaity. But I feel as though I am melting inside with how uncomfortable
I am with myself and my future and it is beginning to seep out of my soul
through my pores, out of my skin, and into reality for everyone to see.
Especially those who are close to me and spend a decent amount of time with me.
So Jeremy. And the last thing I want to do is affect him and allow him to see
that side of me. The not so joyful and depressed side of me. The Winter who is
really fucking tired of having a thousand voices yelling at me…the self
destructive side telling me I don’t need to eat after work and before the
gym….or ever for that matter. The side that says I should because otherwise I
will just be light headed and starving afterwards. The sad Winter who hates
what she sees in the mirror. The girl who can’t wear the clothes she wants to
because of how the fit, how they feel against my new skin. The woman who is
literally petrified in her own body, desperate to control it along with the
future. The angry Winter who justifies the hurt she feels through others by
taking it out on herself. I hate that I have to put on a happy face and yappy
smile to keep the customers happy and make good tips to save up money that I
don’t even know where it will be materializing from or if it will be even close
to enough to keeping me alive through the winter. And then when I come home, I
am spent and exhausted and can’t keep that smile on my face for my boyfriend
continuously. So he sees the raw side of me I try to hide and hate. I hate that
I sit here rambling on and on…yet it feels so good to get this shit out and let
the poisonous worry seep out to where I am heard. Instead of sitting in
silence. The black turmoil ruminating around in my brain like a freaking
tornado. The dream I keep having, of a tornado swirling around me and
shattering everything. It keeps happening in my dreams now. I am haunted by my
conscious mind even in my unconscious state. So that even when I can shut my
brain off and miraculously fall alseep, I am still tormented by the depression,
the worry, the ED thoughts and desires. I feel exhausted. I thought it would be
easier a year out in Recovery. Maybe it will become easier. But it sure feels
hard right now. And I know that it is me that makes it hard. I know that people
believe or think I can just ‘let it go’ (cue overused Frozen music) Oh, how I
wish it were that simple. How I wish I had an on/off switch to do just that. I
have lived for ten years in this turmoil. And I know that it will take time for
a new normal to feel natural. But why can’t it happen NOW? In like 21 days,
just like any other habit! Because this is a disease. And it is one that kills.
I have lost four alumni of Rosewood Ranch this last year to this f-ed up
disease. And those won’t be the last. And as peaceful as death sounds on a lot
of days…I can’t let that become an option. No matter how loud or dark or lonely
it gets. There is always tomorrow. God, give me the strength…to wait till
tomorrow.
It comes down to wants and needs.
And lately, trying to save as much money as I can, has truly pointed out to me
where my wants and needs truly lie. I want to have MY set routine, where
work and school don’t get in the way of my running, my starving, my
calculating, and perfecting of MY beloved anorexia. But what I NEED is to move
the F forward, to not become a statistic, and to keep challenging the thoughts
in my head. One day at a time. What I need to do is to cry, to scream, to dance
it out (preferably to some cray cray Lady Gaga music) and not to use food,
exercise, alcohol, or any other substance to numb out the feelings I have. I
need to nourish myself when I want to go back to the pre-pubescent looking
child I once was, caught in the day to day life of a prisoner, a slave. I am a
survivor. And for this I am thankful. I am thankful for the blessings my Savior
has given me, for the life I have now, for my boyfriend who I met a year ago
now, and for the ability to type what I need to so desperately get out of my
heart. And for you friends out there who must have prayed for me continuously.
I would be dead without the Lord hearing your Holy interventions on behalf of
my withered soul. For I am what I am. It is what it is. And I cannot control a
thing. Just like I can’t control the weather, the customers who walk through
our door, my family’s feelings, or what will happen tomorrow. I can ‘create my
own routine’ as my boyfriend so perfectly put it. And it all begins with being
grateful. For what if we were to wake up tomorrow with only the things we were
thankful for today? I wouldn’t have a whole lot, now would I? And that my
friends, is a future I don’t want to fantasize about…
