Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Gas Tank

The state of my room is a pretty darn good representation of the state of my life.

If my room is a mess, there's a good chance that my life is too. My room has spent most of this semester in shambles. The last few weeks have been rough. My head's spinning: What's wrong? What's happening? Why can't I manage this like I did last semester? What's wrong with me? How can I fix this and make it all go away? I've spent a lot of time somewhere else, wishing I were someone else. I haven't been present much.

Like last night, without warning, without planning, I ate everything in the kitchen that my body dislikes: peanuts, wheat/gluten, and milk. I had blood tests done six months ago that confirmed slight allergies and intolerances to these foods and was advised to avoid them because my body doesn't like them. I've been avoiding them, not because I "should" but because I wanted to. But last night, all I wanted was cheese. And cookies. And peanut butter. And bread. And ice cream.

I know after five years with an eating disorder, I don't really want cookies. What I want is fullness. To feel complete. To feel whole. To feel satisfied. To feel like I am okay. Balanced. Peaceful.

To attempt to fill my emotional bank, I'm using food. That's like putting ice cream in your gas tank. It's just not going to work. It's the wrong kind of fuel. Yet, I try. And try. And try. Because part of me wants to believe that reducing stress, feeling good enough, beautiful, and whole can be accomplished with ice cream. It's so much easier than meditating, learning to accept myself, and taking deep breaths.

Starting over is downright hard.

I called my friend, Sierra, and told her I was not going to stop at Taco Bell on my way home and order everything that had cheese in it.

I called my friend, Rachael, and chatted and asked for prayers.

I texted Jeremy, and told him I was not going to throw up.

When Ashley asked, "How are you?" I answered her truthfully.

I put on a skirt today, because wearing sweats would only have encouraged my, "I'm a slob" inner-dialogue.

I'm writing a blog about my "dirt", because I firmly believe that silence is pain's best friend. Shame can overtake me if I let it. So instead, I choose to share those personal demons that feel huge and hairy, because they look much less intimidating in the light of day. I've gained nothing--not one thing--from pretending I'm a super human without struggles. I'm just not. No one is.

My room and my mind need some serious cleaning.


It may take weeks or months for this moment--this clutter--to be manageable. To find peace again. The end goal isn't a clean room or a stable mind, the goal is acceptance amidst the garbage. The goal is that I will be able to accept this moment, whatever it is and stay standing.

"Serenity is not freedom from the storm, but peace amidst the storm." -Unknown

3 comments:

kessia reyne said...

Sometimes I think words can express everything. I get too confident in words, their accuracy, their worth. But then on occasion I'm reminded of how tightly bound words really are within their casings, how small and fragile words are, and how incapable they are at communicating reality.

Trying to tell you what this post meant to me is a moment wherein I am reminded about the poverty of language. I can only say

thank you,

and

it meant something to me.

Anthony said...

Kessia's words ring true. This was something deep. My room is also very much an indicator of my internal dialogue. When I finally get overwhelmed I will spend a long time organizing until I can sit back and let it be good enough.
Your words on silence remind me of the book, "Breaking the Silence".
Thank you.

Anthony said...

Kessia's words ring true. This was something deep. My room is also very much an indicator of my internal dialogue. When I finally get overwhelmed I will spend a long time organizing until I can sit back and let it be good enough.
Your words on silence remind me of the book, "Breaking the Silence".
Thank you.