Kettle Meet Teapot

Kettle meet Teapot

He was a cheater too.  I don’t think I ever mentioned that.

Funny enough, neither did he. 

It’s been 25 weeks since I last interacted.

A Snapshot

He was furious that there are few pictures of us over the years.

I tried to explain to him that I really hate looking at myself - that it wasn’t about him, it was self-loathing.  

This wasn’t a lie.  There’s probably a good 10 year period where I can count on one hand how many pictures of myself I took. Thankfully I have a friend who photo-documents quite literally everything we’ve ever done, otherwise there would be no evidence of my existence those years.

He stated that I was “making excuses” and that this was further evidence that I didn’t love him and was never invested in our relationship.

He’s still on about it.  I have a text from him in March lamenting it.

Waves of concern and sadness for him today.

These days are rough.

And then I remember something like how he would force me to share a towel with him after a shower if he was angry...

"to save money"

Sorry, one more ED post.

TW - ED, self harm - last one for a while, promise.

I can’t attribute all my body image stuff to him; most of that was there prior.

Culprit?  Dance played a big role - serious ballet students rarely walk out unscathed from body image issues. You are consistently made aware of all the things wrong with your body and comparisons to your colleagues are inevitable.

Bodysuits and tights don’t exactly hide one’s figure, and dressing rooms are.. well... there’s lots of naked people (probably some sexuality repression seeds planted here, another post, another blog).  

It’s a very strange combination: being hyper-comfortable being exposed and on display while being hyper-aware of every flaw. It certainly tainted my idea of beauty - I still love and long for that emaciated look in spite of myself.  You know, where you can see the sternum - long, lanky and flat everywhere.

Enter in the part 2 of my self harm:  Running.  It was the perfect addition and worked in tandem with the extremely restricted calorie intake.  He loved it because it helped me slim down.  I thoroughly enjoyed it as well, but not just because it gave me the body type I’ve been brainwashed to like.  

At the time, we lived out in the county and I ran at night.  There were few lights, few houses, and a few wild animal sightings.

Those runs were magical. There were sunsets, and stars like I’d never seen. At twilight I’d run past fields covered in fireflies performing a light show just for me.  Some nights I could hear coyotes howling off in the distance. 

If he was on me about something that night, I could escape.  I could clear my head and focus purely on my senses - my shoes hitting the ground, my controlled breathing, the moonlight, the smell of grass and dirt, the sound of the creek underneath the bridge.  His voice in my head was drowned out by all of the things around me. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest  and it reminded me that I was still alive.  I felt free.  

I still don’t know how I managed these runs having consumed so little. I would run 8, 10, 12 km having eaten a bowl of soup and 5 crackers that day and an apple with peanut butter and a protein bar the day before.  Some days I wouldn’t eat at all and still run a 25 minute 5k.  I ran with the flu, gastroenteritis, and injuries.  

I often think about the harm I did to my body during this time. I knew it too, but nothing stopped me.  It was alI I could do for a reprieve from him.