Skeleton in the Closet

I’m not one of them. Not really. I don’t “get it.” Maybe I’m getting there. Doesn’t matter, I’m a bit too old for that.
Old? I’m 16 on the inside, 30-something on the outside and realistically on the front side of 40.

A grown woman. Should know better. The young d didn’t know any better; but evidently, the grown d was just a relapse waiting to happen.

***peeks out…doesn’t feel quite safe; but sees that there are others & decides it’s okay***

Hi, I’m d and I’m an anorexic.

I’ve been one for most of my life.

“Hi d”

I may trigger. I often offend. oh well…

I’m starting to wonder how many grown women are just a powder keg full of relapse. You hear the words anorexia, bulimia or eating disorder; and most people think of teenagers, not grown women.

I have a condition, whatever you want to call it. TN/Trigeminal Neuralgia. When it gets pissy I’d rather be dead than chew.

This summer, it was really hot. Extreme temperatures and weather changes make it worse, (this crazy winter has sucked just as hard); and it began to hurt to eat much of the time. I then began to fear eating because it might bring on that pain. Ever dread pain? Fear the next attack? Not a lot scares me. This shit does.

After not eating much of anything but soup, ice cream, oatmeal and shakes because they are soft (and about the only soft stuff I like), I found I was not hungry anymore. My weight started to fall. Sure I could stand to lose some pounds. What woman doesn’t think that?

What I did next was probably the equivalent of a recovering alcoholic taking a drink…I bought a scale. Watching the numbers fall made me feel better. It was also the only thing I was in control of at that time.

“Welcome back d…see? You’re good at this, you’re already feeling better, aren’t you? Everything will be alright…soon, just a little more…a little more….soon….more….you don’t need those doctors who treat you like shit…you don’t need food…you don’t need a damn thing….don’t you dare look back at anything that has ever hurt you, nothing can touch you now….you’re getting stronger…..a little more….almost better…….remember how good this feels…..?”

I was just doing my thing, it came so natural to me, just getting my shit together, and mentally feeling so much better…..

I always told myself you had to have been either an abused child, have had weight issues or wanted to be pretty to be “one of them.”

Guess not. Joke’s on me.

I was far from being abused in any way. I had a good childhood. Weight issues? Not really, I was “just a picky eater.” My mom says so. *nods head* Everyone who knows me agrees. Just ask them. *nods head again* Pretty? I wanted to be a linebacker when I grew up. So no way was I one of them.

Mom tried to pry my mouth open with a spoon to feed me when I was two. I remember it. Bananas. She was worried that I would not eat fruit & veggies. I won. I’ve never eaten fruit since. Well…does pizza sauce count? Veggies? Mashed potatoes count…don’t they?

I was a good kid. I cleaned my plate. Took a few bites, stuffed most of it under the edge of the plate…chewed some more and spit it into a napkin that then covered the remainder of what was left on the plate. I didn’t like the food; but didn’t want to get into trouble, or hurt mom’s feelings…..There. All done…I secretly wiped the food from the table onto the plate, cleared it; and then helped to feed the younger two. Always helpful.

High School, no problem…More than helpful…when I came home from school, I watched the younger ones and started dinner. No one noticed I didn’t eat as I stood at the counter as the younger ones were fed, fast food style, and then rushed out the door to whatever sports they were playing.

I was never one of them. I didn’t go and hide behind a giant, potted plant and proceed to puke my dinner into it. I was short, no way was I delusional enough to think I was going to starve myself into becoming a fashion model. I had stopped growing by the 7th grade. So much for my career in the NFL.

I wasn’t one of them.

Never mind that I can tell you the exact number of calories in:

• a stick of gum
• a slice of bread or cheese (American, provolone or mozzarella), or a 1/4 cup of shredded cheese, different varieties.
• lunch meat (deli sliced)
• a cup of soup or oatmeal
• a small order of fries
• a serving of *insert many brands* of cereal (measured and put into baggies)
• a serving of ketchup
• a slice of cheese pizza
• a tablespoon of butter or margarine
• a teaspoon of sugar…brown sugar…or powdered
• a serving of Miracle Whip
• a flour tortilla
• a 1/4 cup of many brands (and diet versions) of ice cream
• a serving of Doritos
• a cracker
  
• How many servings are in a box of certain kinds of candy and the calories in each….and then count out the pieces and bag them up so I do not have too many in a day
• On any given day, at anytime, I can tell you how many calories I have consumed….there is a constant running tally in my head and it is a crisis moment if that tally nears four digits.
  
• That calculated number will, more than likely, be overestimated by, at the very least 100.

I can tell you the number of calories in any serving of any food I will eat.

Key word “will” ….I’ve always been “picky”

Just go eat a sandwich you vain bitch.

• Vanity? Tell that to someone whose nails won’t grow. During good times, people think my natural nails are acrylic.
• Vanity? Hell I’m about to be kicked out of Club Vic’s Sec. Ms. 36 B is now almost: “Who notices if she doesn’t wear a bra?” I am thankful a certain someone is not into boobs.
• Vanity? At least I had white hair when I was young, because I am becoming covered with it. It’s my body’s way of trying to warm me up. Thankfully I’ve always worn arm warmers since high school during winter; now no one thinks twice about seeing me wear them. I’m glad they don’t see that I wear them indoors. I’m cold all the fuckin’ time. I dread having to turn on the air conditioning this summer. (okay..I’ll give you that one…I’ve bought a professional wax thing for home, I’d never imagined waxing my arms before)-funny story about misadventures in home waxing….maybe later.
• Vanity? When I hear, “You look good today” I hear, “You looked like shit yesterday” I have never known how to receive a compliment.
• Vanity? My hair is now thinner and shorter than it was months ago…hey it saves on cutting it when it just falls out. Now it is just a trim so the uneven parts aren’t so obvious.

I’ve gone back to my old hairdresser. She knows how to trim the uneven, thinning parts and make them look good.
Just like hers. I knew she would understand.

“d, I’ve known you since high school, isn’t it funny how you and I never get the flu, or a common cold? We always get the weird stuff.”

She is right. We both have had some weird assed shit. We also have been handed some damn good excuses. Maybe that is for the best, since we haven’t had to become that good at lying just yet.

Only to ourselves.

I’m not one of them. Everyone I know says I’m not.

See? Just listen to them….I do. My family says I’m picky. People say I’m short. Some stores call me Petite. That’s a little bit old lady-ish; but whatever. He calls me teeny, “His teeny girl.” My favorite uncle calls me his “little d”. He always has. He and my aunt always make sure there is something I like to eat at their house when there is a family dinner. They know “I am just picky”

They all know I’m not “one of them.” That I’ve always been this way.

It seems as if I came pre-packaged with every built-in excuse in the world. I have always been small, short for my age…so it just “didn’t take a lot to fill me up“….I’ve always “been picky“…….. and now….”I don’t feel well.” I’ve had many stretches of “looking normal” as an adult. Not hard to do when you’re short…just gain 5 pounds, it looks like 10…wear over sized clothes….I am also a master of the light layer trick. No one has ever really questioned it.

Not even me. It was just the way I have always been. I controlled the food. It didn’t control me.

Right?

When something that was once so controllable and comforting finally got out of my control….when my last coping mechanism fucked me in the ass...that was when I was forced to question myself.

My hair, my nails…and now my once muscular calves, had lost two inches. Everything had gone to shit within three months. I could not ignore that. I am not an idiot. My heart is also a muscle. Fuckin-A….My body was starting to feed off itself. Oops. Hello… Reality!? At least my mother’s blinders were still working, “I didn’t feel well” held up when she called me emaciated looking. WTF? I do not know how to receive a compliment; but can come up with an excuse on the spot for anything as to not disappoint….but I digress…

“Just a minor glitch….a momentary loss of control….it’s just my age dammit….lost it too fast….I can fix this…just eat a bit more”

I got a bit worried when, for the first time I found I could not force myself to swallow food I knew I needed…chewing and spitting it out, not just some of it, like usual; but every fuckin bite….cooking it and dumping it down the sink…..I was not hungry. I could not eat. When I finally did manage to swallow a few bites, it sat in my stomach and hurt. It was as if my stomach had forgotten what the fuck to do with it.

It had never gotten that bad before. I could always control the food. WTF? If this was fucked, then everything was. Not me. Everything.

I
didn’t
get
it

Well now what?

Then….

of course

a BPChick or two….A.K.A. the f…armerz

C, The Feline here, and Hope our frequent commenter:

They hit me, and hit me, and hit me until I was bloody with the words.

“It’s not about the food”

Okay, I gave em that much. What was it then?

I still do not know.
I do not know what made me “picky” as a small child. I do not know why I restricted throughout adolescence and into young adulthood; or why I stopped and started…again and again….and…again….

Know what?

I don’t think it’s just about body, control, love, abuse or any one of those things. I think everyone is different.

It could be a combination. It could be different each time, with each relapse.

I think it may just be my version of a bottle of alcohol.

Why do people drink, gamble, overeat…etc? Comfort? To feel good? Escape the self hate the next day brings? Courage? To relieve stress? To cope?

I don’t know. It actually doesn’t matter. Not to me. It’s too late to look for reasons. I quit looking stuff up, most of it sucked. I do think the “why” matters to the younger ones.

Perhaps if they can understand the why while they are young, they’ll not be relapses waiting to happen as adults.

By the way, I had a birthday during the time I could not bring myself to swallow anything. I woke up alone in the early morning hours…around 4a.m. What could I give myself for my birthday? “How about some damn food d? Try it again!” What to have? It just popped into my head…C had recently developed a Belgian Waffle IHOP habit. I hadn’t had them in years. I was not going to drive there alone at 4a.m., it probably wasn’t open on Christmas anyway. I dug out my old, Belgian waffle iron and a recipe. “I can do this.” I needed someone there while I tried. I knew where to go for some company at that hour of the morning. At the f…arm, my friends come from all over the world.

and that morning, I found Hope.

I didn’t even mess up the keyboard that much.

*****

I hope she doesn’t mind; but this was buried deep within an old post, so I brought it out.

It’s too good to be buried.

Then I slapped some shit of my own in. As you can see, I still don’t get it, as it’s all over the place; but you can count me in.

I am one of you.

********************************

I MUST BE A BAD ANOREXIC

I must be a bad anorexic
No pity. No looks. No stares.
My presence, of one who belongs here
Not one who’s caught unawares

I once was the perfect restrictor
My E.D.* my closest friend…
Now some days I try to remember…
And some days I even pretend…

That I’m the best anorexic
I MUST be, they’ve labeled me…
For lack of feeling something inside,
The OUTSIDE is what you’ll see!

But still my damned anorexia
Is killing my hopes, my dreams…
How far can you possibly go, my friends
When you’re coming apart at the seams?

I closed my eyes in the darkness
And raised my arms toward the sky…
And felt as one with the stars that night
As I began to cry…

I must be a bad anorexic, I thought
As I lifted my low hanging head…
“WHERE ARE THE GOOD ANOREXICS”? I screamed…
then out of the darkness….
They’re DEAD.

*ED=Eating Disorder

©Cat Ginn ‘05

*********

~No Title-Nothing~

Stare into the mirror
stand there forever
picking out flaws
the morning’s endeavor

More fine hairs
upon my arm
skin becomes thicker
I look in alarm

Piles of clothes
now lay at my feet
too ugly for them all
I cry in defeat

Clothes that I liked
Now they are torn
Scattered in pieces
never to be worn

Wiping the tears
That I have shed
I’m such a loser
I wish I were dead

I must find something
To cover the mess
that is me
I reach for the safety
of my oversized hoodie

It protects me from stares
it hides me from glances
what they see today
I’ll take no chances

I wipe my tears
and walk out the door
I look at the ground
hoping it’s me
they ignore

Beautiful
Looking and feeling
are
two separate things
but feeling, it seems…
only pain with it brings

I’m tired of hurting
I wish to be numb
I don’t need a thing
not even a crumb

I don’t want your pity
I don’t feel your hate
I don’t need that fucking
food on my plate

I sure don’t deserve
I should not want
life’s message
by now
has been quite blunt

Like everything else
that goes away
this pain will fade
to nothing
like
me
someday

It’s safe to be small
chaos and fear
are replaced
there’s only panic
when I desire to taste

It means that I long
that I want or I need
no more can I let
anything inside of me bleed

I can’t allow it
never again…
it’s not
about
just
being thin

Needing love hurts
too much
can’t you see
That the sight
of these bones
through my skin
set
me free

© ~d, 08

**edit** I added a link to some ED naming contest “winners” **

Here’s the link to the ED names.

** I personally like: Undeserving Complex or Deprivation Addiction.

I really like the “addiction” aspect. I really hate the word “disorder”