Tonight I did something I haven’t done in a long long time. Over a year, in fact. And whilst I did it, I got an insight into what really goes on behind bulimias closed doors even more than ever before. I did what I have done at various points over my 18-onwards life. Sometimes it’s been just sporadic, other times – and for long period of time, too – three times a day, or after anything I ate. This time I did it with a new understanding of myself and of us as human beings made up of a bunch of feelings…a new awareness of what was going on inside beneath the physical action of what was going on outside, because it’s been so long since I did this. Before, I just was living in an isolating coping state and a self destructive desperate norm…the idea of feelings or pain being able to be healed or felt without making yourself sick, was foreign. Now, when I did it I had a new set of glasses on, a new way of seeing and feeling things, which meant I realised WHY this thing happens. Why it’ll just show up outta the blue and freak me out. There’s good reason. Valid reason. The action is just a shitty one but the feelings, if gotten to know, aren’t.
There was a self hating – violently self hating – storm that was brewing in the distance this evening. I could feel it. I was tip toeing between the land of pain where I sit with it and offer compassion to it, to the land of self destruct, where the pain only gets offered violence and utter self hatred. The latter land is the land in which my nest, my home, was made up until only this year. Slowly I have begun to move from the land that only breeds more pain on top of old pain, to a land where I can sit with the pain and let it be healed, or simply just here. Tonight the tiptoeing between the two lands felt even more delicate, or dramatic.
I ate an ice cream, not with the intention of doing what followed but with the intention of self destruct because me and ice creams DO NOT get on. But then suddenly – and excitedly – I remembered that the option of making myself sick was something I could do. It was not something that had crossed my mind for so long…it’s not something I did anymore, or needed to do. Excited, but also scared, I sat on the sofa waiting and ready for my housemate to leave for her night out. I sat there full of adrenaline, the thrill of this self destruct tool about to come my way. I just wanted her to leave. She did. As I did the dreaded thing, I suddenly had a flood of pain…not physical – although that was very much there too – instead, emotional. My whole body ached with a pain that left me in tears around the toilet bowl. I pulled down the lid and just sobbed. I don’t want this. I didn’t want this. I wanted a release. My pain wanted a voice, but instead the voice I found was the one of self destruct. I found the voice that didn’t scare me as much as the voice of love, compassion, ease.
I listened for the frightened, struggling, worried, and lonely, little child inside me that I knew was there, crying out for love and attention and gentleness in the turmoil that’s been going on the last few weeks. But instead of listening to her and nurturing her, I grasped hold of the violent and self destructive twat that was brewing up the self hating storm. My self destructive and evil critic. I gave it a voice and once I begun, I couldn’t stop. Until I couldn’t go any further and could only sob. And I didn’t even go that far – these days are over. It’s not for me.
I realised that it’s all it takes – to take action with the self hating voice…to step into the storm, even just dip your toe on the edge. It gives it power. It gives it a grip. By sitting with the pain afterwards – because throwing up DID NOT ease the pain afterwards. During, yes. But not afterwards. Even it meant I couldn’t move, which I couldn’t – I could only curl up with my duvet and just be, the self hating voice didn’t have as much power because I wasn’t doing what it was yelling in my ears to do. I longed to do the opposite – to give myself a foot massage, to relax and read, to eat nourishing food…but I couldn’t. I could only sit in the middle of the love and self destruct lands, and watch as they fought it off paradoxically. Me remaining somewhat neutral and still.
Food issues are a warning sign for me, and tonight it showed me even more. As well as freaking me out. They come when I feel desperate. It’s when I feel overwhelmed and alone. It’s when I feel deeply worried and like I have noone to turn to, so I turn to the voice I know the best and know is always there – the voice of self destruct. An old friend.
But a motherfucking shit one.