One thing I have discovered is that people can’t seem to understand an eating disorder. I get it. How can you possibly understand it?
My best friend smokes. I want to kill her. I don’t understand. Just stop smoking for gds sake. How hard can it be? Ya, if only I could practice what I preach.
I want to share another memory with you. This was from my journal written years ago when I first began struggling.
Every Monday I went to see my psychotherapist and we explored different parts of my life. I did most of the talking and really enjoyed it. I mean, we were talking about me. I had the perfect life. I didn’t have any problems or issues and things were going just fine for me. But, I soon realized that my eating disorder was bigger than I thought. It wasn’t a way of life it was my life. The way I felt about it, the way I regarded it and the way I treated my body, was just not right. I suppose that by talking with a stranger I was able to say what I really felt. I could admit that I loved the attention, I loved the comments about my weight and I loved that I was able to do what I wanted to my body. And in return she was able to tell me exactly what she thought without being concerned about hurting my feelings. The best way I could describe it was that, it wasn’t so much that I felt I had weight to loose or an image to maintain, it was simply a way of life now. It had become a routine, like brushing your teeth or eating breakfast. It was part of Lisa Deanne Sheinfeld and I wasn’t so sure I could part with it. That scared me. There was a part of my life that I thought I had control over, when in fact it had complete control over me. This wasn’t a life changing moment, it came over time and I soon realized that I had a problem. A big problem.
So often, I want to smack myself in the face and say “Will you look! Look at what you have been doing to yourself. Why?? Why the fuck are you doing this????”
The woman who wrote to me today said something very profound and true: I have read so many books and articles and have cried and felt convicted, but nothing has lasted. Have tried to talk with others here but no one really is available. I have had so many humiliating experiences, ,such as the ones you mentioned, ruined so many slacks and pants with the mess and felt so shamed and full of guilt and remorse, but I get up the next day and do the same thing over and over again.
That is the tough part. You have moments when you feel confident, strong and determined. I am going to beat this thing. I can do it! I don’t want to be sick anymore. I am sick and tired of being sick and tired.
But, something happens at night. The switch turns the wrong way.
I think that’s why I hate sleeping. I know that in the moment I feel ready to conquer the world. But ED seems to rear his ugly face at night and determines that he’s not ready to leave. I have found myself awake so late at night many times that my eyeballs are actually burning.
One step of recovery is that I try to go to bed earlier. I don’t want to fall asleep after midnight anymore. I’m fucking tired. No way will I let this disease also take SLEEP away from me. So, again a small thing that is unnoticeable to the outside world, but it is a way of me gaining back control.