an act of apparition
LJ idol week 29: disappear
Like every little kid, I dreamed of being invisible. Other kids wanted to be invisible to steal cookies or stay up past their bedtime. But I wanted to be invisible so I could sneak out of the house to explore what a desert night was like without my parents, or so I could live in the natural history museum to hang out with the dinosaurs. I did not want this confusion of bone and skin, did not want what was on the inside of me to shift and show up on the outside. I did not want to be a walking skeleton.
When I was eleven years old, I began to disappear. I had this idea that starvation could save me because the more I disappeared, the less I could be found. And the less I weighed, the more I disappeared. Circular logic, my therapists told me. But circles made a lot more sense and lacked the sharp edges that so intimidated me in math class. The thing that no one tells you is that eating disorders devour you. You're not in charge anymore. At first, that kind of freedom is reassuring, but later it becomes terrifying.
When an eating disorder hits the five year mark, doctors will tell you that it is chronic. I am at the fifteen year mark now. This thing has grown in tandem with me, and I with it. My adolescence was a frenzy of avoiding family dinners and punishing myself when I took what I perceived to be more than my share. Over time, anorexia has become a parasite that I am no longer willing to host. The symbiosis has lost its' appeal.
I don't want to disappear anymore - I want to be seen.
Not the me that I am when I am starving, nor the woman from the panic attack that landed me in the emergency room last week, but whoever is underneath all of that. I've often wondered who I would be if I am not starving, and that is a thought that simultaneously thrills and terrifies me. Thrills because if I was not starving, I could stop chasing skeletons. Terrifies because I don't know who I would be without it. After twenty-seven years of familiarity, I might not recognize the healthy version of me. Taking that big of a risk is like walking off a cliff and hoping the wind will catch you. A full recovery requires faith that you will still be someone you like once you get better.
♥ pacing while praying ♥ you are beautiful ♥ digging for buried crap ♥ we should all be narcissists ♥ ˌɪnkənˈsiːvəbl̩ ♥ juicy memories ♥ relax. breathe. bupkis. ♥ a gypsy heart ♥ a month of rain ♥ up is the new down ♥ your words, her silences ♥ ground rules for a hairless housemate ♥ the smell of particleboard in the morning ♥ from an aspiring spinster ♥ scarves & sweaters & shawls ♥ on emotional idiocy ♥ fairytale-maker ♥ betrayal by choice ♥ how to age gracefully ♥ San Francisco's smile ♥ not a needle but a drink ♥ Einstein I am not ♥ searching for ballon ♥ of the earth ♥ becoming Cirsea ♥ hanky panky in the redwoods ♥ something happened ♥