This morning I had two pieces of bread with butter for breakfast and I was eating them and trying to feel present... I mean: I have to make a conscious decision to actually taste my food as I eat it. My mind/body/head/mouth are so disconnected from years of needing them to be disconnected so that I could survive and not know about all of the horrible things that were happening to my body... anyway- now I literally have to focus, get myself in my body and BE PRESENT so I can actually taste food as I eat it. So I ate the two pieces of bread with butter and as I was finishing the second piece I felt a feeling of panic that I have felt thousands of times... and usually it is just a sort of nameless panic- there is just panic, I mean- and I have never stopped or been able or willing to stop and ask 'Why do I feel panicked when I am almost done eating?". But then I am sure the answer to that will unlock the other painful question of: What pushes me to keep eating, over-eat, binge, make myself sick, etc. Anyway- I was almost done eating and I felt panicked and I sort of paused for a minute and thought, "Why?". And I immediately thought: What if I am never loved again? That was my thought. My therapy lately and my conversations with friends too, have been a lot about realizing that my parents did not really love me. They said they did- but they did not really. And this has been an INCREDIBLY PAINFUL IDEA TO THINK ABOUT. And long story shortened: I think I have used food for a very long time as a kind of replacement for love. I have wanted to comfort myself, to feel 'full' and to cover hard feelings- and I have used food to try to help me with all of those things. But, of course, it has not worked. My 'struggle with food' has been huge. It has been like an enormous art performance piece about how much I hurt, how much I have had to make myself hurt so I could keep myself from knowing about when I really was hurt, the list goes on and on.
I am trying to work hard, trying to let myself have my drawing, my thoughts, my body. I am SICK OF SUFFERING and I am even more sick of trying to fight off the truth and pretend the horrors of my past did not happen. It is PAINFUL to have to remember the old pain, but it is better to have to keep reminding myself everyday that it is in fact OLD PAIN. And that I am safe now. And that I have my mind and body and art and friends and I am loved, now.
Recovering from abuse is difficult and painful. But it is a relief to finally start to be honest about the past and then I can at least remind myself over and over and over that: THE ABUSE HAPPENED A LONG TIME AGO AND IT IS OVER NOW AND I AM SAFE NOW.