I Think I’ll Keep Working and Skip Dinner
I’ve been running around like a Private Detective, a Lawyer and a Trash Man (Woman?) all at once. What time is it now? How many hours? I have no clue. I need a fucking break. For someone who’s so goddamn disorganized, is it any wonder?
I’m trying to “prove” to the stoopid guvmunt that I’m actually as mental as I truly am. Which you wouldn’t think so hard a task. Really, all you’d have to do is cast a brief glance at me, and if that wasn’t enough, ask me to speak a few words. But the stoopid guvmunt, being the stoopid guvmunt, oh, no.
I’ve also had to divvy things into two piles. Non-Arsey Neuro is going to try to make me look incompetent in the head dept. Sweetie GP is going to try and make me look like I’ll never be well again in the stomach dept. The latter is actually true. I think the jury’s still out on the former.
I talked to Sweetie GP about it all since I’ve never received an actual medical diagnosis. Well, there’s some stuff about a couple of types of anemia (that are a result of chronic disease.) Anemia has been a “chronic” problem since I got sick.
The last time I saw her, I said there’s one thing on the form I thought would fit: Anorexia Nervosa. Has that gotten your attention? I think it did hers. Honesty is the best policy. She’s going to get it, just as you.
What have I been “hiding?” I always talk online about my weight loss and being so tiny as a result of being sick. Some people think my body is great because I’m so tiny. I launch into politics and what it’s done to us all as women. This is all true. Nonetheless, I’ve never said anything more because I’m very sensitive to the Eating Disordered Community. It’s always seemed unfamiliar territory so I didn’t want to upset anyone!
Well, I was recently talking to someone who is part of that community. I started off saying, “I don’t know if this counts but…” That sounds kind of silly, doesn’t it? Then, I explained some things.
I starved myself as a teenager. I did it for months on end, but I eventually gave up in frustration. My body just refused to get any smaller! In my early 20s, I started doing the same, but this time I added the exercise routine to it. Really pushing myself. I don’t know why I ended up stopping. Maybe it was partly living in my never ending Bipolar hypomanic period, and along with that, the non-stop compliments about my looks. I felt I had achieved my “goal?”
Now, here’s the biggie. I know I should be healthy. I know I’m sick. I know I’ll never get above 100lbs. again in my life. I also know that when I don’t eat, it’s not simply because I don’t take care of myself so well.
I don’t eat when my life feels out of control (or is?) I don’t eat when everything feels like such a mess, even when I know I’m hungry. I don’t eat when I know my body needs food. I just don’t. I refuse to. Maybe not all the time, I suppose.
The person responded to me and kind of laughed. She said for me to add that to my already long list of diagnoses. It definitely “counted.” Everything, even from when I was a kid.
But when things feel a bit more stable, or when I feel a bit more positive? I feel a bit more positive about eating. I think I might be able to see that, now. Also, I think there’s something stuck deep down in my PTSD Pandora’s Box about this. I can’t say for sure but there’s always been a weird… *closes eyes tight and makes fists*