I’ve kept a diary since I could form sentences on paper. I would find a quiet spot alone and chronicle my thoughts and reactions to my surrounding world. I kept it private and told few because it seemed an arrogant habit. To recount my life as though anyone but me would ever care. As I’ve finally emerged on the other side of my lifelong struggle with eating disorder and body image I can see it’s true purpose. It wasn’t a pretentious activity, but rather, a necessity of sanity. An escape. A weaving of a story. My story. That now I can tell to help others.
Whether you’re aware of it or not we live in an age of despair. A society more connected than ever, yet more disconnected than ever. We crave real human connection but are too “busy” to nurture it in the ways it requires. So we hopelessly attempt to fill that hole with food, sex, drugs, alcohol, attention, money, diamonds. You name it, someone’s drawn to it. But it’s an endless path laced with destruction.
Though I’ve spent the majority of my life hiding from people, God is prodding me with a sense of urgency. I feel I am busier than I’ve ever been, yet He whispers to me.
When I want to remain quiet because who am I, really? What do I know? He persists.
I am afraid so I still resist replying, I can’t.
In the midst of my struggle I have several distinct memories of particularly hopeless moments, most of them embarrassing. They bring a sting to my heart when I think of them. Moments of ultimate lowness. I recounted one such moment in my diary. My fingers tremble even now to think of sharing this moment. It’s not something I’m proud of. It’s not a memory I’ve ever uttered to another soul. Which is why I now believe it must be shared. Because if it’s a secret I’ve kept, there are most certainly others who’ve been there.
Monday October 27, 2008
I am at chelsea’s house right now and I have had too much to drink and eat. I have my computer because I intended to edit pictures I took at the river earlier while I was running. I am feeling bad about myself right now. I feel like an addict. I am addicted to food. is there such thing as FA?? food addiction. I went to an overeaters anonymous meeting but it is not what I need. what do I need?? who the hell knows. I need to be able to eat what I like and love myself anyway. but when I eat what I want I hate myself and feel fat. josh loves me anyway. I am happy with him. I don’t think the counselor knows how to help me. I need help but I don’t want it yet. I love to eat. I just love to eat and always have. but I have to end this post because I am about to pee myself. that is sad. I need help. please.
I can still feel the weight of the hopelessness that consumed me that evening. Inebriated with food and drink on a week night, enveloped in crippling shame. Desperate for help but grasping blindly. Alone. But by choice.
I never found anyone to help me. I read books and eventually gave my struggles to God. And here I am today. I know others relate to this. Even if it’s not food, it could be anything that keeps us in bondage. This is the reason I share my story. Freedom is waiting for you.
Sometimes I wish someone would have seen me and offered help. But I also understand the importance of refinement through the process of struggle. That being said, I cannot stand by while others hurt. I must speak my truth in the hope that if it does not expedite someone else’s process it at least provides encouragement and hope along the way.