A Confession (or A Ways from Caramel Apples)
I must confess, I used to be anorexic.
I figured now would be a good time to just lay that out on the table. Being a hiccup away from 25 is bringing a lot of things to light. I've never shared this in such an open way, but today seems like a good day. Between the age of 13 and 14 I barely ate anything at all and exercised sometimes over 6 hours a day. Unfortunately, this unprecedented surge of "self control" and "dedication" was met with more praise than alarm. I am the perfect storm of components that make up a person who develops this disorder. Some of those components are dark and personal; I won't be sharing those here. However, I did want to talk about expanding.
Ironic, eh? Someone who once dedicated herself so completely to disappearing now wants to discuss actually taking up space in the universe. Lately, I've been desperate to feel some growth- legitimately growing up, with all the attendant responsibilities and heartaches thereto. My poem Rapunzel begins to touch on this desire. I am letting myself grow literally (go-go Gadget hair!) and figuratively. But the basics of anorexia are strong and compulsion is a huge component. It is so much like a dysfunctional romantic relationship it's a little bit scary; Dear Ani touches on this, although nothing but experience can ever fully explain how it feels. Last Sunday I realized that I am still in the shadow of my former relationship. But let me explain, first, how it began.
I remember the moment I stopped eating. I took one bite of a caramel apple and stopped. I looked down at the crispy green apple, covered in the bright, golden caramel and felt nothing but disgust. It was right around this time of year, too, and my middle school was being flooded with pre-Trick-Or-Treat candy and pseudo-Halloween delights. I had been wandering around aimlessly, feeling restless and deeply upset. It was a typical day at lunch; there was no where to sit and no one to talk to. I bought a candy apple in the hopes that it would cheer me up. Eating carbohydrates and sweets had always been my go-to comfort compulsion as a kid; sneaking away Oreos and finishing entire bags of chips on my own was pretty typical. But for some reason, I snapped that day. I threw the apple away, because I finally understood, deep down, that eating would never get rid of my pain. I decided to take control of myself, and to my detriment, that control went way too far. Thus I began my ritual of eating lettuce for lunch, barely any dinner (if at all) and exercising from the moment I got home from school until it was time to go to bed. I was like this for the majority of a year and a half. No one ever noticed or said anything besides, "Your legs are looking so long!" or "You're working really hard." Or, the absolute worst, "I'm really proud of you."
Truth be told, I felt nothing. These compliments fell on deaf ears and a hollow heart. Honestly, I don't remember much of that year. What pieces I do remember have been supplemented by photos because along with disordered eating I had a whooping case of body dysmorphic disorder. These symptoms were at their worst during the angst of middle school, but seemed to let up when I got into high school. I found friends, got involved in theater, and started eating again. My eating habits went back to being compulsive and emotional. I secretly loathed my body, but at least it was getting the nutrition it needed to live. Far more important than anything, I felt like I belonged somewhere. Flash forward 4 years and I graduated with a 4.25 GPA, ranking number 11 out of a class of 800 students. I went away on scholarship to the school of my choice. Always the paragon of strength, intelligence, quirky confidence, and brutal honesty, no one would ever think that I wanted to disappear. Because that's what anorexia does. It taps into your deepest fear that no one wants you, no one sees you, and even if they did, they sure as hell couldn't love you. It's your tool for disappearance. The kicker is though, even after I started eating again, the urge to disappear didn't... well... disappear. I was tired of people saying I was too loud, wanted too much, my dreams were unreachable; I was just too big for anyone to deal with. On the outside I was shrugging this off, but it ate away at me. I started retreating again- my medicine for dealing with pain. I graduated from college Cum Laude; I immediately joined a master's program and after a year, graduated with Distinction. But I am only just now realizing I have never understood how to truly deal with pain and uncertainty.
Today I am here. I am engaging with my life. I have plans. Fuck, I have a birthday party to go to that I've been looking forward to for weeks! Today, I am taking up space in the universe. I've come a long way and the internal work has been grueling. But last Sunday was a caramel apple moment. I was full of rage and anger; pacing around didn't help, walking to get a pint of ice cream didn't help. When I dipped my spoon into the mint-chocolate chip, there was the echoing feeling of despair. I didn't want the goddamn ice cream; I wanted my pain to go away. With tears streaming down my face I ate a couple of spoonfuls (because it's a freakin' recession and I can't waste even $3 on ice cream) and put the rest in the freezer.
This is how far I've come? Nearly 25 years old and being ricocheted to 13 in the space of a heartbeat. I wanted to slink away, be invisible, hole up someplace dark. So, now is the time when I have to get real with myself. There is a strong chance that I will never be completely free of these demons. I might always be battling the Black Wolf, albeit a smaller, fluffier version than before. If I'm waiting for Train Perfection, I could be at the platform for a lifetime. Maybe this is the next hurdle, understanding that taking the next step doesn't mean you're 100% cured and standing still can be detrimental if you never move forward. I've made the mistake thinking that changing my physical location (or hair color) constitutes real change. It doesn't. Expanding seems to be the key- learning how to lift out of the gravity of self and uncertainty to see that there is always another option that you have never considered before. That there is room, so much room, in this place for everyone to be happy, be themselves, be loved.
A part of me still operates under the assumption that as soon as I'm thin enough, my life will begin. As soon as I get my anxiety and depression under control, everything will be perfect. When I don't make mistakes anymore, I'm close to the finish line. A Type-A, people-pleaser hard at work. I behave as if these trials and tribulations are a burden; a sack of unwanted luggage that I must drag behind me until a miracle swoops in and carries it all away. I look around the next bend for that miracle. Just surviving, just holding on, until someone comes and saves me from all this. Me, thinking this. Adult me. With all my fancy degrees and wordly travel, still waiting to be saved. I think it's time to expand, and consider the possibility that no one can carry this all away. My lifetime might be dedicated to learning how to slowly drop these unwanted shadows, learning how to let go. And maybe... maybe, figuring out how to be grateful for what I've learned from all this pain. So, I don't want to talk about disappearing anymore. I AM HERE. I am breathing, living, thinking, feeling, sweating, bleeding, working. I am trying. Really, really hard, I am trying. I am learning. I am making mistakes. I take up a very big place in this universe, and if I have it my way, I'm just going to keep getting bigger. And I am totally fine if no one else is fine with that but me.
So, forgive me but...
I confess, I am learning how to not care what you think, despite how much I may want to share myself with you.
I confess I am sometimes completely crippled by uncertainty, but will probably plow ahead anyway. It won't be pretty or graceful, but it will be growth.
I confess I am completely capable of wondrous things.
I confess I want to break a few more hearts before I am too old to care.
I confess that I am important, and so are you.
I confess that I was anorexic, but am better now, and hope to stay that way.
I confess that I still don't like caramel apples.
I confess that I am excited about being 25 and will probably tell random strangers unprompted.
I confess that my body is imperfect, but it is mine. No one is allowed to criticize it, including me.
I confess that I am afraid, but so are you, and it shouldn't stop either of us from being who we are meant to be.
I confess that I expect you to move over and give me some room to expand, because I want to be in this world, and this world needs me to be here.
I figured now would be a good time to just lay that out on the table. Being a hiccup away from 25 is bringing a lot of things to light. I've never shared this in such an open way, but today seems like a good day. Between the age of 13 and 14 I barely ate anything at all and exercised sometimes over 6 hours a day. Unfortunately, this unprecedented surge of "self control" and "dedication" was met with more praise than alarm. I am the perfect storm of components that make up a person who develops this disorder. Some of those components are dark and personal; I won't be sharing those here. However, I did want to talk about expanding.
Ironic, eh? Someone who once dedicated herself so completely to disappearing now wants to discuss actually taking up space in the universe. Lately, I've been desperate to feel some growth- legitimately growing up, with all the attendant responsibilities and heartaches thereto. My poem Rapunzel begins to touch on this desire. I am letting myself grow literally (go-go Gadget hair!) and figuratively. But the basics of anorexia are strong and compulsion is a huge component. It is so much like a dysfunctional romantic relationship it's a little bit scary; Dear Ani touches on this, although nothing but experience can ever fully explain how it feels. Last Sunday I realized that I am still in the shadow of my former relationship. But let me explain, first, how it began.
I remember the moment I stopped eating. I took one bite of a caramel apple and stopped. I looked down at the crispy green apple, covered in the bright, golden caramel and felt nothing but disgust. It was right around this time of year, too, and my middle school was being flooded with pre-Trick-Or-Treat candy and pseudo-Halloween delights. I had been wandering around aimlessly, feeling restless and deeply upset. It was a typical day at lunch; there was no where to sit and no one to talk to. I bought a candy apple in the hopes that it would cheer me up. Eating carbohydrates and sweets had always been my go-to comfort compulsion as a kid; sneaking away Oreos and finishing entire bags of chips on my own was pretty typical. But for some reason, I snapped that day. I threw the apple away, because I finally understood, deep down, that eating would never get rid of my pain. I decided to take control of myself, and to my detriment, that control went way too far. Thus I began my ritual of eating lettuce for lunch, barely any dinner (if at all) and exercising from the moment I got home from school until it was time to go to bed. I was like this for the majority of a year and a half. No one ever noticed or said anything besides, "Your legs are looking so long!" or "You're working really hard." Or, the absolute worst, "I'm really proud of you."
Truth be told, I felt nothing. These compliments fell on deaf ears and a hollow heart. Honestly, I don't remember much of that year. What pieces I do remember have been supplemented by photos because along with disordered eating I had a whooping case of body dysmorphic disorder. These symptoms were at their worst during the angst of middle school, but seemed to let up when I got into high school. I found friends, got involved in theater, and started eating again. My eating habits went back to being compulsive and emotional. I secretly loathed my body, but at least it was getting the nutrition it needed to live. Far more important than anything, I felt like I belonged somewhere. Flash forward 4 years and I graduated with a 4.25 GPA, ranking number 11 out of a class of 800 students. I went away on scholarship to the school of my choice. Always the paragon of strength, intelligence, quirky confidence, and brutal honesty, no one would ever think that I wanted to disappear. Because that's what anorexia does. It taps into your deepest fear that no one wants you, no one sees you, and even if they did, they sure as hell couldn't love you. It's your tool for disappearance. The kicker is though, even after I started eating again, the urge to disappear didn't... well... disappear. I was tired of people saying I was too loud, wanted too much, my dreams were unreachable; I was just too big for anyone to deal with. On the outside I was shrugging this off, but it ate away at me. I started retreating again- my medicine for dealing with pain. I graduated from college Cum Laude; I immediately joined a master's program and after a year, graduated with Distinction. But I am only just now realizing I have never understood how to truly deal with pain and uncertainty.
Today I am here. I am engaging with my life. I have plans. Fuck, I have a birthday party to go to that I've been looking forward to for weeks! Today, I am taking up space in the universe. I've come a long way and the internal work has been grueling. But last Sunday was a caramel apple moment. I was full of rage and anger; pacing around didn't help, walking to get a pint of ice cream didn't help. When I dipped my spoon into the mint-chocolate chip, there was the echoing feeling of despair. I didn't want the goddamn ice cream; I wanted my pain to go away. With tears streaming down my face I ate a couple of spoonfuls (because it's a freakin' recession and I can't waste even $3 on ice cream) and put the rest in the freezer.
This is how far I've come? Nearly 25 years old and being ricocheted to 13 in the space of a heartbeat. I wanted to slink away, be invisible, hole up someplace dark. So, now is the time when I have to get real with myself. There is a strong chance that I will never be completely free of these demons. I might always be battling the Black Wolf, albeit a smaller, fluffier version than before. If I'm waiting for Train Perfection, I could be at the platform for a lifetime. Maybe this is the next hurdle, understanding that taking the next step doesn't mean you're 100% cured and standing still can be detrimental if you never move forward. I've made the mistake thinking that changing my physical location (or hair color) constitutes real change. It doesn't. Expanding seems to be the key- learning how to lift out of the gravity of self and uncertainty to see that there is always another option that you have never considered before. That there is room, so much room, in this place for everyone to be happy, be themselves, be loved.
A part of me still operates under the assumption that as soon as I'm thin enough, my life will begin. As soon as I get my anxiety and depression under control, everything will be perfect. When I don't make mistakes anymore, I'm close to the finish line. A Type-A, people-pleaser hard at work. I behave as if these trials and tribulations are a burden; a sack of unwanted luggage that I must drag behind me until a miracle swoops in and carries it all away. I look around the next bend for that miracle. Just surviving, just holding on, until someone comes and saves me from all this. Me, thinking this. Adult me. With all my fancy degrees and wordly travel, still waiting to be saved. I think it's time to expand, and consider the possibility that no one can carry this all away. My lifetime might be dedicated to learning how to slowly drop these unwanted shadows, learning how to let go. And maybe... maybe, figuring out how to be grateful for what I've learned from all this pain. So, I don't want to talk about disappearing anymore. I AM HERE. I am breathing, living, thinking, feeling, sweating, bleeding, working. I am trying. Really, really hard, I am trying. I am learning. I am making mistakes. I take up a very big place in this universe, and if I have it my way, I'm just going to keep getting bigger. And I am totally fine if no one else is fine with that but me.
So, forgive me but...
I confess, I am learning how to not care what you think, despite how much I may want to share myself with you.
I confess I am sometimes completely crippled by uncertainty, but will probably plow ahead anyway. It won't be pretty or graceful, but it will be growth.
I confess I am completely capable of wondrous things.
I confess I want to break a few more hearts before I am too old to care.
I confess that I am important, and so are you.
I confess that I was anorexic, but am better now, and hope to stay that way.
I confess that I still don't like caramel apples.
I confess that I am excited about being 25 and will probably tell random strangers unprompted.
I confess that my body is imperfect, but it is mine. No one is allowed to criticize it, including me.
I confess that I am afraid, but so are you, and it shouldn't stop either of us from being who we are meant to be.
I confess that I expect you to move over and give me some room to expand, because I want to be in this world, and this world needs me to be here.
Courtney, you are so very beautiful and I am sorry I never recognized these things in you. I remember when I met you, I remember thinking how insecure you seemed when Nikki and I became friends, but I thought you were this great mix of loud and pretty and strong. To this day I still see you as the strong one, even with all these things I never knew.
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing them. Thank you for taking up space because the world really does need you and I hope that soon both of our spaces will collide and the world will never know what hit them! :D
And I have to confess to you since you shared with me, I was addicted to morphine for almost a year and that's why I went down to new mexico for six months in 2008.
With much love,
Ray'Chel
PS: To me you will always be beautiful and strong and I hope that I can be strong for you too.
Courtney, this is wonderful. Compelling, mature, and honest without being too explicit. I love you dearly. I hope you have a wonderful birthday.
ReplyDeleteWe do love you girl! :)
ReplyDelete