Here is an extract from one of the entries made by one of the beautiful, brave and courageous women contributing to this amazing project The E.D. Book. It’s true that addictions of all kinds, and in this case, an eating disorder, really do take on a life of their own, a persona; a girl in ‘tiny levi jeans’. A memory from a time that is now recovered from.
The sharing of story has so much power to transform, not just the sharer, but also the receiver. Thank you to this amazing woman for sharing hers…
She showed up, wearing a pair of tiny Levi’s, carrying a new black backpack & an attitude of disdain. She asked me to come with her on a jaunt, a crusade… one I believed was for others, for weirdos, American models & real fatties. I denied the offer, I closed the door firmly. Thanks, but no thanks…but she was unconvinced. She discreetly penned me a note and slipped it to me in science class. “I need you”.
How I ached for someone to need, or even notice me, average, dreary, mediocre me. She sensed my desperation, of that I am sure. Deftly she offered me a friendship so secure, so guarded & passionate, she assured me that she would lead the way. How to deny advise from one so sure?…a sticky tape promise to my shattered glass heart… let’s leave them all behind she beckoned, urged, seduced my willing eyes with images of taut, toned skin & thighs. Tempted my pain with power & blame.
So I made a promise to my Self, I could do this, and do it well. Grasping for my story to tell, I fell… I stared my disgusting Self down in the bathroom mirror…It’s time to get good at something, you’re USELESS! Make them suffer, they can’t decide it all for you…it’s time to take control.
Her words scraped my awareness like a blunted blade. “It hurts, but it is worth it. Push through”, she reassured me, “You must call me every night with your numbers, count, count, count on me. How many grams of fat, how many joules”?! She demands. I’m yet to make a stand. “I will know if you eat, you cheat! I despise you!! You’re FAT & UGLY & USELESS. Let me stroke your head until you fall asleep”.
You’re getting good at this now, no-one else can be trusted, it’s just you and me together. Now I see you are dedicated, you’re like me, no-one else gets us. We’re devoted to losing…”That’s good” keep going, weigh yourself and tell me your numbers. She soothes me with the projection of her words, digging in like hipbones so apparent, so clear… caressing, repressing fear.
So now, I’m committed, I’m succeeding for once… focused on making enemies with my Self, with the number on the scale…desperate to drive it down. Take it off, drop, shed, lose til I’m slim & smooth, one size fits some and less is more, I’m sure.
Don’t Look At ME!!! I beg of you, look away.
Please, see me…
I’m sure I am despised, as I despise my thighs…despise my size. But she loves me, she loves this. Unless I’m not losing…then I’m USELESS, FAT & UGLY!
Countless counting, of calories, of kilojoules, numbers swim, but still I count, count, count, but who to I count on? I want out of this, but I know nothing more…I feel calm, & obsessively in control… I know what my purpose is, I can relate to losing weight…but now…what am I losing? Love, health, vitality, control… losing my Self. Where to turn…?
Cracked, discipline gone, I had too many, too many to count! Mirror mirror on the wall…scales on the floor… drive it down, get it out, feel it burn. She will know, she will go… she will leave me, alone.
LEAVE ME ALONE!!!
Flip & reverse, resent & remorse.
Oh to give in, to taste… to allow and rest & free myself from the grip. I taste, it’s good, it’s sweet… I resent my weakness…I run, effortlessly I run. I hide. Tracking my pain, stepping it out, rain pours, sweat, tears & hate fall from my pores. I call for more, and a new hand reaches out to dull the sharp shards of which I’ve tripped towards… & then I’ve fallen to my jutting knees, elbows & hips … a fallen house of cards.
The fire is out, the desperation subsides…my desire to lose has me depleted. I cannot travel this naïve and unsteady downward spiral; I wish to laugh, to sing!
“We need to break up” she too, is tiring.
I don’t even flinch.
I am tired of trying, of counting, of losing. She’s losing her touch, the luster has gone, the desire to be enveloped in this senseless power struggle, has.
.
.
.
Slipped.
To contribute your own stories as a way of letting go of the shame while also giving others permission through a similar situation, please go to the How to Get Involved section (here: https://thenotesonproject.wordpress.com/how-to-get-involved/).
xx
the NotesOn project 