Eating Disorders Aren’t Just For Skinny People

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Trigger warning: eating disorders

Eating disorders aren’t just for skinny people.

Mine looks like:

-not eating for 12+ hours

-taking 2.5 hours to try and plan a binge that will satisfy all the cravings

-spending 5 minutes eating enough food for 2 people

-waiting 10 minutes to feel full

-spending 3 minutes throwing it all up

-brushing my teeth for 4 minutes

-going about my life as if nothing happened

-feeling both satisfied and empty

-feeling guilt and shame

My shift work life easily enables long spaces between meals and not resting enough. I’m a nurse. Do I know better? Absolutely. Does it matter? Absolutely not.

It’s the thinnest line I’ve known between control and out of control: the swing from binging to purging.

You couldn’t tell if you watched me at work or in public, eating carefully balanced and portioned meat, quinoa, and veggies or having a salad as my side.

Nobody sees because I don’t let them.

I’m fat, I have an eating disorder, and nobody knows.

I wonder about telling my counsellor about this but we easily use up our time talking about the myriad of other thoughts and feelings taking up my brain. Ironic that I take up too much space and I feel as though this, too, takes up too much space.

Admitting it to myself is a start, writing it here is a little further. One day I’ll say it out loud.

Hope this finds you well,

-L

(Before you get all up in my grill about me calling myself fat, objectively I am a size 3XL, ~280lbs, and 5’6”. I will not use my BMI as an indicator.)

Fading

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I can’t explain the feeling other than to say it feels like I’m dying. It feels like a process and it feels like I’m fading out of my own life. Everything seems like it should be goodbye.

In Pirates of the Caribbean they have the black spot.

In Harry Potter they have The Grimm.

You can choose your own omen of death.

Reality has a dark cloud.

I just have this feeling.

It feels inevitable. I expected it to feel suffocating and am almost surprised that it doesn’t.

It feels like I’m just going through the motions of living my life, which is nothing new to me.

At this new stage in my life, I assumed things would be better than this. I have an actual chance to live the life I want to. I have a degree, I have a nursing license, I’m living by myself, I have a steady income. However, these check boxes and milestones do not guarantee happiness. I assumed they’d bring me the feeling of security I’ve been looking for all my life.

I still feel like I’m just walking on the edge. Added to that now is the dying.

I wish this feeling would tell me how much time I have left. I can’t help but wonder if it’ll progress and then I’ll know.

It’s still May. June is close but July feels as though I won’t make it that far.

Maybe I’ll just be forever fading away.

Hope this finds you well,

-L

You Don’t Owe Anybody Thinness

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“You don’t owe anybody thinness” is what I keep repeating to myself every time I find myself sucking in my stomach or hunching my shoulders in public. After a million or so times it should sink in.

For good measure I try to follow this up with “It’s okay to take up space.”

How silly it is that we live in a world where we’re judged by the amount of space we take up to go about our daily lives and that somehow our value should be derived from how much or how little space we use.

Has anybody directly told me “You take up too much space”? No. Is that message present in marketing and clothing sizes and diet culture? Yes.

My favourite feature is my face, I like nothing about my size or about my body. To even myself, I’m only just a pretty face.

Hope this finds you well,

-L

Someone You Know

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Trigger warning: sexual assault, suicidal thoughts, depression, self-harm

It has happened to someone you know. Someone you know has done it.

There has been a lot of talk lately of sexual assault and the violence women face on a daily basis. Every woman knows, every man does not.

RAINN has statistics explaining that every 73 seconds in America someone is sexually assaulted.

It happened to me.

It was St. Patrick’s day. I had gone out with two friends of mine and friends of theirs. We went to a fundraiser for a mutual friend and then to a bar. I had had a lot to drink. At some point in the night, my friends decided that their friend “J” and I would be a “good match”. My two friends had decided to call it a night and left the bar without me after “J” told them he would bring me home.

I did not know they left me there or I would have gone with them but that decision was taken from me.

“J” told me that my friends had left but that he had to take me home. He then told me that his roommate needed a ride so we would be going to his house. He then told me that I could spend the night and sleep on his couch. At 2am, drunk, couches sound pretty appealing. We got to his house, we visited in the kitchen, and we decided to go to sleep.

There was no couch.

I was 19.

At this point I was so tired and I just wanted to sleep. He said that I could just share his queen bed and he would take me to my friend’s house in the morning, and drunk me agreed.

Rape doesn’t just end when their hands leave your body. The feeling of those hands has stayed with me.

I have chronic insomnia, I have attempted suicide three times, anxiety and depression are my constant companions, I have disordered eating, and my self-esteem is on shaky ground. It has been 9 years since that night.

It wasn’t until my counsellor at university pointed out to me that good people don’t lie about having couches for drunk friends to sleep on that I started to let myself off the hook a little bit for everything that happened.

My favourite colour used to be green but for years after I said it was blue because the thought of green made me feel sick.

I can’t tell you how many nights I have spent up all night, waiting for morning to come so that I can feel safe enough to sleep in my own bed, or how many days I’ve showered more than three times trying just to feel clean again. I have a very good memory and my subconcious used that to my own detriment to create hyper-realistic flashbacks for me to relive when I closed my eyes.

St. Patrick’s day will maybe never be a celebration for me. Having your air cut off by your own shamrock necklaces can have that effect on a person.

I’m not telling this because I want your pity or your well wishes. I’m telling you this so that maybe you no longer see rape and sexual assault as one moment in a person’s life. It’s not just a physical recovery. I’m still feeling the ripple effects of that stone thrown in the pond.

I don’t feel safe at night out walking. I don’t go to bars alone. I don’t drink alcohol on dates.

Sexual assault is any non-consensual act. My story is not the only version, but there are countless similar ones out there.

If every 73 seconds someone is being sexually assaulted, then every 73 seconds someone is sexually assaulting. Don’t be that someone.

Be an ally: No means no. Practice explicit consent- only yes means yes. “Maybe later” is not yes. “Not now” is not yes. “I don’t feel like it” is not yes. Teach your friends; teach your children. Call out the behaviour when you see it. Rape jokes are not funny. Believe people when they say they’ve been assaulted. “Not all men” is not a valid argument. Don’t assault people.

Hope this finds you well,

-L

If you or someone you know needs support right now, there is help available.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

Crisis Services Canada

RAINN

Waiting

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I didn’t expect my twenties to be like this. I didn’t expect to spend my life waiting for my life to begin, waiting for adulthood to start, waiting for the inevitable to strike. Maybe it’s because I’ve felt old since I was young; spending too many years making too many decisions above my age. Perhaps because I’ve spent many years hoping and waiting for death. It’s already been more than a decade since I first wished to leave. It seems as though I’m always waiting for what’s next.

High school, done.

Driver’s license, done.

Relationship, done.

Post-secondary acceptance, done.

Graduation, done.

University, incomplete.

Breakup, done.

Diploma, done.

Job, done.

Nursing school, done.

Job, done.

The rest of my life, …?

I work too much, I pay bills, I buy groceries, I wash dishes (most of the time), I have a cat, I do laundry, I call my grandma.

When does the settled feeling start? When does the relief come? What next? When do I feel like I’ve got it all under control?

I’ve been striving for control since I was seven years old and I have yet to find it. Does peace come with letting that go? Probably. Will I? Probably not.

Perhaps the inevitable is me spending my life striving and searching for things beyond my grasp; spending my life waiting.

Hope this finds you well,

-L

Funerals, Loneliness, and Space

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At funerals, people love to use phrases like “she loved life and life loved her right back”, or “she found joy in the everyday living”, and “she lit up any room she walked into”. Even worse is “she was the life of any party”.

Anybody who uses sayings like those at my funeral will be lying or they never really knew me at all.

I’ve never really loved life, and life hasn’t loved me back. I’ve just been lucky enough to have loved people in this lifetime.

I have spent my life wishing that I could take up less space and wishing that I could take up none at all. Even as an adult, I spend my days cowering in my basement apartment, trying not to make noise or bother my upstairs neighbour.

I don’t want to be a bother.

I work hard to appear okay and work even harder to avoid vulnerability. If people don’t get close to me, I won’t be hurt when they inevitably leave.

That’s the truth.

Also the truth: I just want to be seen.

I only get hugs in my dreams, and I dream often of reuniting with people who truly know me; without me having to reach out first.

I am the friend who checks in with everyone else, I am not the friend that anyone checks in on. When I’m lonely, I reach out to others, though I doubt if I didn’t that they would notice.

I wonder, frequently, who would notice if I quit posting, quit communicating, and quit being.

I’m not sure my own aching loneliness could stand to be out of touch with people in that totality.

“Hey, how are you?”

“……. you?”

“Alright!”

This leaves no space for knowing, for wondering, for caring. I box myself into a corner by wanting people to ask how I am but then not answering truthfully when they do.

Life has always been lonely for me and I feel like it always will be. That looming perpetual loneliness is a heavy weight, one that I’m unwilling to bear.

I wish for sunshine, joy, and warmth to filter into my life as if I could remember what they feel like and I could recognize them if they came. By now, I’ve spent so much time in the dark, surely I could recognize light when I see it.

Perhaps not, perhaps all my days will be grey and cold. Maybe all my life will be empty.

I’m tired of taking up space in this world.

I’m so tired.

Nobody will say “she dreamed of death” or “she lived an aching life” at my funeral, though both will be true.

What will they say, then, to phrase the constant loneliness, emptiness, and chill that I have lived with? How can you spin looming despair into a personality trait?

If my friends can look me in the eyes and not see that I’m not okay, either I have done my job well or they’re not really looking; they’re never really seeing.

Life gave me loneliness. I searched so long for safety and protection, and now I only feel lonely. Loneliness is the only thing I am certain of.

There is no “life of the party” in me.

I do not light up any rooms.

Everyday living has no joy for me.

Who can see me?

.

.

.

Hope this finds you well,

-L

Daunting

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Trigger warning: suicidal thoughts

From where I stand, the future looks nothing but daunting. It’s hard to remember the good at the end of such a terrible year. Each disappointment and struggle seems like a heavy stone in the backpack of life that I insist on carrying around.

The weight has pulled me off the podium I stood on at the start of the year and dragged me to where I teeter on the edge. Will I be just one more casualty of this year? It seems more appropriate to close my eyes for good when it’s still a terrible year, instead of souring a new one.

People are looking toward 2021 with hope, so much hope. All I feel is dread. Once the new year starts, my life has nothing left for me to do but to be tugged along with the passing of time. I have a degree, a license, a job, a life, and a home. I’ve lived so much life in these years, I don’t feel accomplished, I just feel old.

My friends are all moving on. They have their own lives. They have relationships, pets, children, homes, and triumphs. They look forward to adventures, to new beginnings, and to a future. Joy and love fill their lives with so much colour. I’m glad for them and envious at the same time.

I can’t feel the colour in my life anymore. I’ve learned how to avoid disappointment by avoiding expectations and hope. Each day is a consistent defeat in itself, why add to it? Food is bland, tea is lukewarm, sleep is fitful, and warm is never warm enough.

A bleak winter’s day with thin sun and glaring brightness is my reality. Nothing has colour and everything is too bright to be enjoyed. The trees are bare and the wind whistles enough to chill my bones. It is silent except for my trudging foot steps. I pass houses with warm light shining from festively decked windows and see smoke from what I imagine to be a warm fire inside. These houses are not for me. I have never been inside one, nor will I ever know the love and joy bottled within them.

My chest aches with the cold, the emptiness, and the loneliness. It is as familiar to me as my breath and the beat of my heart.

Despair.

Sorrow.

Hopelessness.

I used to long and now I find myself longing no more. I don’t want to find the energy to enjoy life. I’d rather fade away into this bleak winter’s day and never trouble the sunniness of a new year.

Maybe in another lifetime I’ll see colour again and find the warmth. That, too, seems daunting but it’s the only hope I cling to, the hope that lies in death. Hope that death will be kind to me as this life hasn’t been.

I’d like to fade away in sleep, though rest is something I never find at night. Perhaps that is the secret to the kindness of death. Dying instead of sleeping doesn’t feel so daunting after all.

.

.

.

Hope this finds you well,

-L

If you or someone you know needs support right now, there is help available.

http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

Lonely or Alone?

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Holidays and family are supposed to bring joy, love, and hope. They are known for gatherings and good company. This year, people are going to extraordinary lengths to connect with loved ones from a distance to maintain any sense of normalcy.

Here I sit, surrounded by my little family, and I’m feeling more alone than maybe ever before.

Oh, the scorn I would feel if people knew how I was taking being able to gather for granted.

There’s so much pressure when you come back to family; pressure to assume the same roles and to put on the same shoes, to live behind the same façade, to do the same pretending.

“I’m happy.”

“Everything is fine.”

“I’m glad to be here.”

“I love the holidays.”

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

When you celebrate with the same family in your broken childhood home, it feels different as you get older. Everyone pretends they’re the same and that we can’t see all the cracks.

I’ve never felt so lonely- pretending I’m the me they know, when I’m the me that I know. I don’t feel comfortable around them. I don’t feel comfortable with myself. I am not happy. I’d rather be with people who love me for being me, who would love me if they really knew me.

I want to die but here I am celebrating trivial things and faking a smile.

My heart aches and my chest hurts from pure loneliness.

The forced joy of the season makes this feeling so much worse. Don’t get me wrong, this is nothing new to me. The global circumstances just make the guilt bigger too. How dare I feel this way when I’m so fortunate?

I’ve come full circle to where it’s truly a pain to live again. I’ve been here before. It’s almost as if all the work I’ve done to leave this place never happened. I’m stuck going in circles; the struggle is perpetual.

Am I lonely or am I alone?

Lonely. Always lonely.

Hope this finds you well,

-L

If you or someone you know needs support right now, there is help available.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

Crisis Services Canada

These Lines

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Trigger warning: self-harm

When do I take really good care of myself?

When do I make sure I’ve showered? When do I tuck myself in to bed? When do I give myself grace? When do I feed myself and drink hot cups of green tea? When do I brush my teeth? When do I wash my face and apply moisturizer? When do I lotion my body and feel okay in my own skin? When do I take deep breaths and breathe in peace? When do I put on clean, safe clothes?

When I look down and see these lines. These lines I put on my own body. These thin, neat, red lines. These lines drawn across my thigh by my own hand.

Only then can I find it within me to take good care of myself. Someone has to.

Hope this finds you well,

-L

If you or someone you know needs support right now, there is help available.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

Crisis Services Canada

The Me I Know- pt. 2

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There’s the me I try to be; the good friend, the kind daughter, the responsible sibling, the honest citizen.

Then there’s the me I know.

There’s the me inside my head. The me who doesn’t always want to live. The me who flakes on her friends. The me who drinks to escape. Bisexual me. The depressed me. The anxious me. The suicidal me. The introverted me. The self-harming me. The me who needs to be in control. The me who lives in the past. The incomplete me. The me who lies.

I live a different life than the me inside my head does. I see me when I can’t get out of bed, when I can’t make myself shower for a week; the me who can’t bear to wash the dishes. I see me when I pull away from my friends and avoid making plans. I see me when I isolate myself from people who care about me because I feel unworthy. I see me when I reach out to people because I feel like I’ll fade away without the attention. I see me when I skip meals and when I binge eat. I see me when I’m having a panic attack. I see me failing. I see me fading away. I see myself judging others. I see myself drowning.

I see the child me who just wanted to be loved. I see the kid me trying to compromise with divorced parents. I see the young me who raised her siblings. I see the teenage me who just wanted to fit in. I see the adult me who kept trying to die. I see the naïve me who was raped at 19. I see student me who failed classes because I couldn’t get out of bed. I see me now, still trying to referee my family and putting myself in the middle. I see the me who can’t fit into any of my clothes anymore.

I see the me who desperately wants to connect with others but who spends my life hiding from others.

The me who just wants somebody to see me, while hoping nobody actually sees me.

Nobody else sees the me that I know.

Hope this finds you well,

-L