During my last year of college I had a neighbor with an eating problem. She was so thin the wind would knock her over, literally. I knew it was more serious than I could imagine when we discovered she was throwing up in containers and storing it in her room until she could throw it away. I didn't know what to do for her. A small group of us would take her out to eat with us and then find excuses not to get home for a few hours, hoping she would digest some of the food and give her some nourishment. If I knew a friend was suffering from an eating disorder of that magnitude now, I would talk to her and find help for her. But then, I didn't know what to do.
I would hear her talk about how fat she was. Then, I was a size 18. Don't talk to me about fat. She had no idea what fat was. I remember thinking about how utterly distorted her view of herself was to think that she was fat. Fat compared to what... a sheet of paper? We'll all lose that battle. I was afraid for her. Afraid that she would fall and break a bone or die from mal-nourishment. I didn't have the guts to say anything to her about it and now I don't even remember her name. But I say a little prayer for her right now -- that she is safe and happy and eating, wherever she is.
For the last 5 days I've been thinking and thinking and thinking about my childhood, experiences, and beliefs about my body, weight, and appearance. The brief discussion I had with my therapist on Wednesday, set me off for three days of intense triggers, wanting to be lusted after, refusing to look at myself in the mirror, intense self detest and consistent objectification of men and myself. I even went far enough to reach out to Steve, trying to find someone who would quiet these narratives in my head by lusting after me.
Trying to boil all my thoughts down and be succinct about the whole thing is difficult. There are so many variables and contributing factors to what I think and where I am. I've always felt like two people. The first was spiritual and dedicated to the gospel and her Father in Heaven. She was helpful, kind, brave and strong. The second was an addict, lusting, needing, wanting, using men to fulfill her own fantasies. She was selfish, desperate, and vengeful. Recovery, for me, has always been about merging those two people into one. It was about finding the authentic self. And in so very many ways I have done that. I can be spiritual, dedicated, kind, brave AND an addict who can be selfish and vengeful. Recovery has been learning what is real and facing the truth about myself. And, when I'm really honest with myself, I am pretty darn happy with who I am. I am smart and sometimes a smartass. I am funny, intelligent, strong, helpful, spiritual and an addict. I can sometimes be selfish and rude, but I try to apologize and admit when I am wrong. I struggle with my addiction, but I am staying sober and doing the things I need to do to keep myself in check. I am artistic, musical and good at many things. I have moved ahead on this front of merging these two people inside me together and though I still struggle with my perfectionist complex and the pressure to be a perfect addict, I am making progress and feel good about who I am.
Yet -- on some level there are still two people I'm dealing with. The internal portion of who I am and the external, physical portion of who I am. I thought my sex addiction was dealing with this, but I'm wondering now if the addiction as just a symptom of this much deeper, larger issue I have with my appearance. In so many ways, I've faced so many demons the last two years, but somehow I think this next portion of my journey is going to be really tough.
That is because, deep down, when I am truly honest with myself, no matter what people tell me or their actions, I still hear my older sister whispering in my ear: "People don't like you because you're fat. They may pretend to like you just to be nice, but really, they feel sorry for you because you don't have any friends." And though I have no animosity towards her, really I don't, I can't stop the words and feelings they invoke.
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