Self Destruct - Tumblr Posts

... as skinny feels.

TW - ED, self harm 

I’ve had part of this drafted since I wrote part one.  I’ve come to the conclusion  this left more scars than I was inclined to admit.

Quick catch up: He exacerbated an already problematic cognitive pathway in my brain and exploited it to manipulate me.  In short (and very simplified): Bad Thing Happened means Pain = penance = possible redemption.

So I found interesting ways to punish myself that wouldn’t raise flags.  Severely limiting my calorie intake was perfect: it made him shame me less and caused discomfort to punish myself for things that I was doing at the time (ie, cheating)

I am still struggling with the idea that I had an eating disorder;  the narratives I’ve read don’t appear to apply to me. But some things definitely match.  I have some form of dysmorphia, for example.  I have never been diagnosed.  But I can’t look at pictures of myself without cringing, and my self body image is definitely distorted.  

I got very thin. I dropped down to a point that was unhealthy. I never weighed myself because I didn’t have a scale.  But things stuck out.  Yet still, I felt there were things that required shaving off.

He loved me that thin.  Couldn’t get enough of me. But he wasn’t the only one.

I never received so many compliments as I did when I was literally in the throws of some of the most self destructive shit I’ve ever done.  For months, my daily intake was 500 calories a day or less . I went a few whole days without eating anything and was so proud of myself when I got into bed those nights.

The whole experience was extremely disturbing looking back on it.  I refused to eat outside of 11am and 3pm.  I was obsessed with food - I still know the calories in almost everything I eat. And if I don’t, I still check. My muscles always hurt. I was always cold, sometimes shaking, and always thinking about the next meal.  I got dizzy easily, and giddy delirious.  In my head, these side effects were great - a free high.

I don’t know why I stopped, but it was always temporary in my head. I felt like if I just reached the sweet spot with a perfect 6 pack that he would be nicer.  That he would treat me like he loved me.

After he had kicked me out and I had commenced with therapy I told him that I talked to my therapist about it.  He told me two things that night: 

That I made him look really bad because he didn’t notice that his spouse was struggling with an eating disorder, and, a few hours later 

that he and I always ate dinner together (lie, he was on afternoons and had dinner when he got home at 11pm or midnight, see the Hours of Acceptable Eating above) and I always eat a lot.  So this was a figment of my imagination and I was a liar.

Not only did it never happen, I took the opportunity to, once again, smear his character.  That night ended in violence.

Why did I cheat?  

I cheated to feel a private victory over him. I didn’t want to actually hurt him; he wasn’t ever supposed to ever find out.  It was my secret; just my little reminder that not everyone shared his opinion of me.  Even if that was just because they didn’t know me well enough to see all my ugly bits as he did.

I cheated to feel better about myself. They told me I was irresistible, funny, and interesting. That he was a fool for neglecting me. They flattered me to get what they wanted. I knew that, but pretended like they were pining for the woman they couldn't actually have. It inflated me temporarily, which was enough some days to prevent me from killing myself.

I cheated to distract myself and have something to look forward to. My meets ups were never near as exciting as the planning and build up. A little adrenaline to supplement the cortisol. Good substitute for the old s and d, right? Right.

I cheated to detach myself further.  Meaningless sex made me colder, cynical, unfeeling. Heartless. You would be amazed what you can endure when nothing matters.

I cheated to survive. That's not an excuse. That is a statement.