“And I couldn’t stand the person inside me. I turned all the mirrors around. I’m bigger than my body, I’m colder than this home. I’m meaner than my demons, I’m bigger than these bones.” Control – Halsey
Slave and Master to Every Bite (Part 2) in May of 2020 brought about my first public declaration to seek out professional help for my disordered eating. But I wasn’t ready. Previous doctors and therapists had left a bitter taste on the matter. Instead, I continued resolute on my long standing tradition of going it alone.
The downward spiral of binge eating continued until my staunch will took over the following January. Drastic, seemingly overnight changes, are my specialty. I flipped the switch from one extreme to another. No processed foods, no sugar, no grains, no gluten, no lectins, no nightshades. No overeating. No eating out and no dinner dates. No having to explain myself, no having to explain that your love language of food is killing me. No guilt. A whole lotta no, and a whole lotta control.
This won’t be a source of comfort, comedy or inspiration. I am sitting in the raw, unfiltered shadows of my Inkwell. I am enveloped in the crushing weight.
My hands know my body. Upon waking they glide across my skin taking in the topography. I lay in bed, the tips of my fingers surveying for change while bending and twisting my form. My fingers are happiest when they feel bone.
My hands know my body because they search in desperation. My fingers panic as they maneuver over the yielding and rebounding parts. They pinch and poke, grasping at my freshly awoken flesh. They seek to know if anything changed whilst my body slumbered.
My hands know my body, their judgement is sound. The eyes, they distort and lie. I stand in a room full of mirrors and reflect on each angle. Which reflection is the truth? Which version of myself lives inside the minds of others?
The overwhelming truth is that I’m afraid I won’t truly be happy until I’m a two dimensional caricature of myself. And I know, even then, the lines will be unflattering and wrong. Better to be a one dimensional line segment, alone on a page.
I am sitting in the raw, unfiltered shadows of my Inkwell. I am enveloped in the crushing weight. I am clawing at the walls and gasping for air. I am seeking the light.
As of February 2022 I am under the care of a licensed professional to help me further navigate and deal with the depression and anxiety that contributes to my food and body issues. If you or someone you know struggles with mental health issues, help is available.
The Inkwell Files 