I don’t want to be hugged, held, or otherwise touched is because I don’t feel comfortable with my body. Someone else being allowed into that space is akin to allowing them to be uncomfortable with me, as if I am transferring that feeling to them. I’m afraid they’ll somehow know that I think I need to lose weight, or worse, that I actually do need to lose weight.
But the irony of that is that I actually want to be loved like that all the time. When I read The Five Love Languages, I tied between: words of affirmation, and physical touch. If no one is allowed to love me, in the way that I need, then………..I am not loved and I can continue making destructive decisions without worrying about if anyone cares or not?
There is a question mark because that’s just a theory, I’m not totally sold on my own observation. And, I know there are plenty of people who care but I think maybe when I’m pushing them away that is me not giving them an opportunity to show that they care. I am basically always saying, “you’re not allowed to love me.”
Last night I was told you have a full blown eating disorder. I can’t stop thinking about that. It’s one thing if I sort of just dance around telling myself I probably have disordered eating, but for someone else to make the observation and say it out loud is really, really, really shocking. In an odd way, it’s also validating. But more than anything it’s scary. I would die if my family ever knew how much this has affected my life, and how much they didn’t know. It scares me that I have allowed someone in enough to make an observation like that, and then have the power to do anything with that information. It’s also extremely relieving. I finally feel like I can breath a little bit. I feel like it’s not such a huge secret. To be sure, I have definitely told (very few) people before, but never in full–there is always something I leave out. Usually the fact that it is, right this very second, still an issue. It’s still an issue. I just don’t know how much of an issue, and when it is a serious problem.
I always manage to fall in the gutter and then pull myself out. But when is falling in the gutter repeatedly–no matter how many times I am able to pull myself out–a huge problem in and of itself? What truly is my bottom line? I remember making the decision a few years ago that if I dropped below 115 pounds, then I needed to seek out help. But then I did fall below that several times, and I just kept telling myself it wasn’t a big enough problem.
What I’m trying to say is; I honestly don’t know if I have the capability at this point, to even recognize when it is a bottom line sort of problem. I mean, if we are talking at what point am I underweight? The answer is 110 pounds. Or if I’m throwing up. At all.
I think the worst part about coming up with a bottom line is that when I reach it, I feel like I have betrayed myself because at that point I’m too far in to see what’s real and I never feel ready to stop. I’m thinking back to 9th grade; when I had confided in one friend, who shared that info with the rest of our group of friends, and 3 of them went and told the school nurse. I don’t think I have ever felt more betrayed in my life. Now, I understand why they did, and I would have done the same thing if it were reversed. But I seriously think that has scarred me. I remember spending the rest of the day figuring out how I was going to get out of this with my parents and trying to cover every possible angle. My mom picked me up from basketball practice and she said, “you have a lot of explaining to do.” I was so scared. I still don’t get why she said that. Wouldn’t your first reaction be to…give me a hug or something? Instead I was in trouble. For lying.
If a school nurse gives you the number and information for a residential treatment center, shouldn’t the reaction be to get your daughter some sort of professional help, immediately? Was I that awesome at being deceitful? I think my parents reaction has made me fearful to receive help because it seemed like this problem was such a huge devastation to everyone that I was the worst child on the earth for potentially having this issue. When I was 17, my dad read an e-mail about potentially attending an ED group that my cross country coach gave me the information for, and again, nothing happened. I made up that I was fine and that it was some precautionary measure–I don’t exactly recall what I said to get out of that one–and he said two things: 1. I still lived under his roof, so if I were to go anywhere I would have to get his permission first, and 2. He was hurt that I didn’t tell him. Why would I tell him when the previous two occasions resulted in me being grounded? They just didn’t know what to do with me. Of course I didn’t make it easy because I was so defensive and so good at lying.
I always feel like I’m letting someone down. I always feel so guilty that it makes getting help unfathomable, because if I go then it’s true and I have let everyone in my family down.