Yammering on control issues.
Apologies if this is incoherent. I've had all of 12 hours of sleep over the past three days, and should probably not be considering such weighty (har har) issues. But my hard-copy journal is currently under my mattress, and I'm stuck at work, so this entry shall set sail across digital seas! Arr. Avast.
Recently, I've been thinking a great deal about the issue of control and its insidious metamorphosis from guiding principle to subliminal detriment, in the world of eating disorders. When I reread yesterday's post, I realized that I'd touched upon the clichéed paradoxic idea of having a conscious decision to gain control (lose weight) result in an unconscious decision to lose control by giving myself over to anorectic compulsion. The more I read on anorexics, the more I'm coming to see that this switch isn't uncommon; yet it's seldom explored in any depth, much less explained. Where exactly is the event horizon? At what point does someone become unknowingly drawn in against their will?
subbes brought up an interesting point, in that ED's are objectively fascinating "especially when you know what you're doing, and do it anyway, and how you self-justify". I've read textbooks, articles, memoirs, novels, all dealing with the physical and mental crippling this disorder brings. I know the statistics, the demographics, the fact that this could result in permanent bodily harm, even death. And, quite frankly, that scares me shitless. But do I know what I'm doing?
As much as I admittedly enjoy having found a group of people with whom I identify, there is no joy in being bound together in this sickness. Unlike many members in more "hardcore" communities, I do not revel in my worth being defined by caloric intake. I do not gloat and pay homage to "ana" or "mia", carrying them with me as if they were a prized show poodle destined to become Alpo Grand Champion. Instead, I want to stuff this wretched thing into a dirty shoebox and feed it through a woodchipper. I have chosen to restrict, yes, for I am the one who holds the fork, however what I have not chosen are the mental storms which are only calmed through strict adherence to said deprivation.
Perhaps I'm being obtuse, but it seems to me as though an eating disorder is not a disease in and of itself, but a symptom; a physical manifestation of a greater, much more duplicitous problem. The mind/body relationship becomes distorted, no longer working in tandem but in opposition, both sides demanding complete, contrariant supplication.* "Give me food!" "Give me purity." "Give me rest!" "Give me tirelessness." "Give me affection!" "Give me freedom." "Give me safety!" "Give me attention."
I choose my actions, but I do not choose their source. Much like religion, if the basis upon which all tenets are founded is corrupted, then all actions will be inherently flawed - if this were simply about losing weight, I'd be happy by now.. and that's obviously not the case.
For many people, an ED seems to start off masquerading as a beauty issue, sacrificing yourself for the sake of appearances. After all, pour être belle, il faut souffrir. Personally, this was my case, although that period quickly faded when I realized that weight-loss did not automatically bring forth the stunning good looks I'd always secretly hoped were hiding under the flab. No matter how thin I get, I will always have wide shoulders, thick legs, a non-existent waist, along with a whole assortment of other disappointing bodily flaws. And, as a Mature and Responsible Adult, I should accept that fact and work within its limitations.
No. Nonononono. I can't. I won't. It's not fair. I can't give up. I can't admit defeat.
I suppose the question intrinsically remains: why am I both expected but not allowed to be perfect?
* Oddly enough, this dysfunctional bodily relationship is a near-exact microcosm of my family environment. Hmm.
Recently, I've been thinking a great deal about the issue of control and its insidious metamorphosis from guiding principle to subliminal detriment, in the world of eating disorders. When I reread yesterday's post, I realized that I'd touched upon the clichéed paradoxic idea of having a conscious decision to gain control (lose weight) result in an unconscious decision to lose control by giving myself over to anorectic compulsion. The more I read on anorexics, the more I'm coming to see that this switch isn't uncommon; yet it's seldom explored in any depth, much less explained. Where exactly is the event horizon? At what point does someone become unknowingly drawn in against their will?
subbes brought up an interesting point, in that ED's are objectively fascinating "especially when you know what you're doing, and do it anyway, and how you self-justify". I've read textbooks, articles, memoirs, novels, all dealing with the physical and mental crippling this disorder brings. I know the statistics, the demographics, the fact that this could result in permanent bodily harm, even death. And, quite frankly, that scares me shitless. But do I know what I'm doing?
As much as I admittedly enjoy having found a group of people with whom I identify, there is no joy in being bound together in this sickness. Unlike many members in more "hardcore" communities, I do not revel in my worth being defined by caloric intake. I do not gloat and pay homage to "ana" or "mia", carrying them with me as if they were a prized show poodle destined to become Alpo Grand Champion. Instead, I want to stuff this wretched thing into a dirty shoebox and feed it through a woodchipper. I have chosen to restrict, yes, for I am the one who holds the fork, however what I have not chosen are the mental storms which are only calmed through strict adherence to said deprivation.
Perhaps I'm being obtuse, but it seems to me as though an eating disorder is not a disease in and of itself, but a symptom; a physical manifestation of a greater, much more duplicitous problem. The mind/body relationship becomes distorted, no longer working in tandem but in opposition, both sides demanding complete, contrariant supplication.* "Give me food!" "Give me purity." "Give me rest!" "Give me tirelessness." "Give me affection!" "Give me freedom." "Give me safety!" "Give me attention."
I choose my actions, but I do not choose their source. Much like religion, if the basis upon which all tenets are founded is corrupted, then all actions will be inherently flawed - if this were simply about losing weight, I'd be happy by now.. and that's obviously not the case.
For many people, an ED seems to start off masquerading as a beauty issue, sacrificing yourself for the sake of appearances. After all, pour être belle, il faut souffrir. Personally, this was my case, although that period quickly faded when I realized that weight-loss did not automatically bring forth the stunning good looks I'd always secretly hoped were hiding under the flab. No matter how thin I get, I will always have wide shoulders, thick legs, a non-existent waist, along with a whole assortment of other disappointing bodily flaws. And, as a Mature and Responsible Adult, I should accept that fact and work within its limitations.
No. Nonononono. I can't. I won't. It's not fair. I can't give up. I can't admit defeat.
I suppose the question intrinsically remains: why am I both expected but not allowed to be perfect?
* Oddly enough, this dysfunctional bodily relationship is a near-exact microcosm of my family environment. Hmm.