Remembering the life before . . .
Before anorexia nervosa came, snatching away my smile and leaving me with a hollow shell of empty fake laughter.
Before anorexia came, stealing my spirit in exchange for the gift of anxiety; a gift that keeps me second-guessing day or night whether I have done.said.eaten something wrong, a gift that makes me worry about that small cheese biscuit that accompanied my plate filled with lettuce.carrots.dicedtomatoes.greenpeppers.mushrooms, all safe foods of few calories and no salad dressing, not even a dribble.
But sometimes I want to eat something warm and comforting, like cream of potato soup or mashed potatoes or hot chocolate with whipped cream, but NO, I am not allowed, I would be a GLUTTON and that is a sin and I pay for my occasional indulgences, knowing the scale won't start its inevitable slip and slide downward, and then of course I would no longer be me, or am I no longer myself now? I am confused.
Before anorexia came, teaching me to fear food and people and fun social events in which I would casually chat with someone, and I would occasionally stop talking to take a bit of cheese and crackers, stuffed mushrooms, perhaps nibble on a cookie or two without any fear.
Remembering the life before when I believed that love could overcome anything and love was the greatest gift of all, and people and vows could be trusted and my mind didn't constantly turn against me, the voices in my head rubbing me like a hairshirt of old; always reminding me that there will be consequences if I eat too much and who defines too much? Well of course, anorexia defines how much is too much food, just as anorexia defines every aspect of my life and right now we are fighting to me to hang onto six lousy damn pounds, because once those pounds are gone, I'm back into the double-digit and then anorexia will be in total control; there will be no small, inner voice to whisper recover. Try and eat; try to recover. That whisper will be lost, and this time I fear forever.
Sometimes it feels as if life has changed irrevocably, and to even hope of returning to who I was is an impossible dream, like wishing upon a star; the star has imploded and isn't taking any more wishes, at least not from me.
There is much sorrow remembering the life before. It was a time of freedom and love and feeling cherished and not crying for three days straight because I feel I have failed as a wife, I am failing at recovery, and sometimes my greatest wish is that anorexia would just kill me so it can all end, because I am definitely sick of this drama, but I can't change the station nor find the key to turn it around; each time I think I have, it crumbles in my hand.
So right now I'm in anorexia purgatory, fighting to not lose, but perhaps not fighting hard enough. Meanwhile, my body is starting to go haywire with all this starving.notstarving.starving.notstarving, ad nauseum. My doctor told me there are certain liver enzymes that are acting weird, and the kidney functioning is typically bad, and the potassium can't make up its mind whether to stay in my body or not. I figure it is a crap shoot - cardiac arrest, kidney failure, or liver failure.
For me, it is when he reminds me that anorexia does kill people do I realize what I have done to myself, and then he can't truly predict which one of these things will implode within this body I have abused so long, he can only keep an eye on things for right now.
Back to to the life before . . . one of freedom from fear and anxiety, filled with interesting work and the love of my husband, when food wasn't an issue . . .
Did I dream this past life? Because I'm beginning to believe it never happened, that I've always been on this rollercoaster.horrorhouseride.suicideplan called by the innocuous term of anorexia nervosa.