What’s Her Name?
The voice in my head. The one that tells me my body doesn’t look right. That says that the food I eat expands my waistband two sizes. The one that shames me when I don’t eat and then guilts me when I do - She is vile. She talks me down when I’m trying to climb up. She is the hand that pushes my head underwater while I’m trying to catch a breath of air. She is relentless in her attempt to ruin my image of myself.
If I’m honest, She has done it. She has accomplished what she set out to do.
Until now.
Her voice is loud and bold. She speaks in security, thinking that I will never escape from the cuffs She locked me in long ago. She is everything I never wanted to be, but all I have become.
Every bite of food is filled with guilt. It tears apart my mental state and has me restricting when all I want to do is eat. Every meal skipped is doused in not just mental pain but physical pain, but if I eat, getting it out is the priority. If I don’t sadness consumes me. It’s become a no-win situation.
This voice in my head is persistent.
This voice is rampant.
This voice has my mind locked in an escape room I can’t seem to riddle my way out of. The worst part is knowing that while I have my whole life ahead of me, time is fleeting.
(I don’t think She knows that includes her.)
Sometimes She gets quiet.
Which is nice.
But I don’t trust Her to be gone for long.
It’s like She is not just sitting in the shadows, silently watching, but She is the shadows. Waiting for me to puzzle my way out of one room so that the next is more difficult. She matches my growth in difficulty. She studies me while I heal, then chips at the glue until I feel ten steps backward.
Her eyes are black holes freckled in pain. Her figure is everything I am not. She glows in rejection and smells of desire. Her hair flows in waves of shame and guilt. Her voice sings out my deepest insecurities. She walks in strides leaving hopelessness behind her for the starved, desperate follower to consume. I see my leash as She leads. Everything She is bleeds off Her in unlimited supplies, dissolving into my energy field which is absorbed and redistributed throughout my mind.
She holds my power over my head and laughs while I try to get it back. Jumping to grab it, while She grows. My attempts to shut Her down, build Her up.
Then there are those moments when I ground into myself, and I find Her getting weak. I stop feeding into Her energy. She hates that, so she goes a little harder. Pushes a little deeper and either uproots my energy or starts to dissolve.
The disillusionment of Her presence leaves a gaping open space in my mind, my soul, and my body. A space I often forget to fill. A space She comes back to because it’s accidentally left open for Her.
She is nameless. She just is. She is the kind of power that exists only in a false reality. A reality that if broken would shatter my view of what I have allowed myself to become and the world I have chosen to live in. And then I wonder which is scarier: Living in a world that doesn’t exist or one where She doesn’t exist.
Love Always,
Riss
Bulimia Nervosa
*trigger warning for anyone struggling with eating disorders
*if you or anyone you know is struggling with eating disorders you can call (866)256-3563 for support.
Imagine standing at the helm of a ship: the sun kissing your skin and the mist of the water balancing the sun’s kiss. The breeze dancing through your hair, wrapping your clothes tighter to your body. Allowing the salty air to caress your nose and sink into your pores.
Take a moment to feel that. To embrace that. To hear the waves and feel the sensations.
Then out of nowhere, it shifts.
The sun falls behind a massive dark cloud. That moment of bliss is ripped from you before you have time to process what is happening.
Rain pelts your skin, washing away the salt, and soaking your body in an unforgiving moment. The waves rock the boat in a series of violent strokes, giving you barely a second to catch yourself before you fall off the front of the ship. Nausea gurgles in the base of your stomach and before you can stop it you feel the remnants of everything good in your body being released.
The sensation is gut-wrenching and heartbreaking.
And this is how I would describe those moments when I find myself seated in front of a toilet. Battling for a mind of clarity while the dark clouds hover and settle in.
My experience with eating disorders has been maybe one of the longest relationships I have had (insert uncomfortable laughter here.)
When I reach a point where it feels like the boat is just uncontrollably rocking, pulling me backward 100 steps from the progress I have made, I feel the physical shift in my mentality.
It’s weird. I can recognize when it is happening and feel the spiral start. I watch myself being pulled into this whirlpool. I can see myself clawing at the water to get out of it, but you can't hold water. It doesn’t offer a way to grip and hold onto. It only offers a pull downwards. It sucks you in backward and there is nothing you can do.
Sometimes, and very rarely, I can pause the inevitable. Somehow it always circles back around though. It’s mental gymnastics and that shit gets exhausting. It’s always followed by tears. A moment staring at the girl in the mirror wondering how she got here. Unsure who she even is which makes her feel even more alone. Makes her feel unseen. Makes her invisible.
I won’t tell you this happens frequently. It doesn’t anymore. But when it does, the girl with the smile on the exterior is wearing a mask nearly impenetrable except by those who know her best. Even then, she has become a master at hiding her pain from them too.
Bulimia affects about 1.5% of US females and .5% of men at some point in their life (https://americanaddictioncenters.org/bulimia-treatment). The risks and the physical deterioration that happens in the body range from tooth decay, esophagus rupture, heart damage, prolonged sore throats, and more.
I know all this information. I have read and researched and reached for more knowledge surrounding this topic. I have worked to understand why I do this thing and where it comes from. I have discussed it in therapy. I have tried to comprehend why my self-image is so distorted. Tried to relate and associate what in my life brings it to the forefront.
Yet… I still find myself staring into the hole of a toilet bowl from time to time. My version of escape.
The process makes no sense but it is there. It happens.
Eating disorders affect at least 9% of the population (https://anad.org/eating-disorders-statistics/). Unfortunately, the ability for people to talk about or engage in conversation about them is typically laughed off out of a place of sincere discomfort.
I don’t shy away from this issue that I deal with on a daily basis – whether it’s a mental fight or physical action – one way or the other.
I wonder sometimes what difference it would make if we could talk about it. Discuss this topic more. Bring it to the attention of those around us. Turn the conversation to places of understanding, appropriate questions, and how to broach the subject or address concerns.
Whether you find yourself relating to my specific struggle or you are dealing with a struggle of another kind, I want you to know I love you. I know it’s hard, really hard some days. You are worth more than those thoughts in your head. Those voices screaming. On the days you need a voice to scream back because yours is suddenly gone or distorted:
I’ve got you.
The body is the vessel that holds more than just your food - it holds your soul and you my friend, are far more than your body.
Love always,
Riss
The imPerfect Body
the Perfect body is one I strived for. but the true gift was learning what perfection is and how it does not exist. step inside this piece of vulnerability and learn how you are not alone, no matter where your perfect lies.
*trigger warning for anyone struggling with eating disorders
*if you or anyone you know is struggling with eating disorders you can call (866)256-3563 for support.
some of what I have written below is unknown to nearly anyone in my life including the therapists I have had over the years - so to the friends and family that have been my support, I love you and am so grateful for everything you have done for me. your support has not gone unnoticed or unappreciated. you have all saved me in more ways than I can count.
this is a moment of pure vulnerability so please read with a kind heart. and if you or anyone you know might benefit from this and knowing you are not alone please share this and please reach out if there is anything I can do to support you.
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For the last twenty years, I have struggled with the idea that my body is not perfect. With that comes the idea that in order for it to be perfect I need to eat a certain way – which is not eating or binging and then purging.
While the adolescent version of me didn’t necessarily pertain to these methods, the young adult version did. I can remember the first time I sat thinking about what I “needed” to do to get my body to where I wanted it to be. How could I possibly attain this level of perfection that I had been envisioning since I was playing with Barbie’s.
Yes, I will say that I wholeheartedly believe Barbie had a huge effect on my mental state, amongst many other things. From growing up in the world of dance to constantly comparing myself to my sisters and friends. Hearing comments about my body from my dad. Never feeling wanted by anyone all through high school. Constantly feeling like even if I did scream, no one would hear and certainly, no one would care was a burden I took to mean I wasn’t beautiful and that’s why no one liked me.
(If I could go back in time I would squeeze that little girl and tell her she is the most beautiful greatest thing on this planet and everything is going to be okay.)
My freshman year of college was when I finally decided to do something about the way I looked. It started by finally getting into the gym. I would get up early and go before class, but it still didn’t do enough for me fast enough. The levels of perfection so carefully carved into my mind felt even further away than before. So… my friend Kristen and I sat down and decided to make a pact….
We would starve ourselves and workout more and we would do it together. Hold each other accountable. Check in with each other. Make sure the slow deterioration of our bodies was happening at a steady state. We weren’t going to do it forever, we just wanted to drop some weight fast. That’s what I told myself anyway.
I truly believed that was the only way that I would be attractive to people. Sometimes I still believe it. It certainly isn’t easy and it can be scary. When friends, male friends to be more specific, started commenting on how good I was looking, it made it easier to keep going. To sit in the dining hall, nursing a water or a small salad because “I wasn’t hungry”. I could feel the fatigue taking a toll though.
Every morning was more difficult than the last to get up. Every morning was like a giant weight holding me down. Every workout was harder and harder and every day I was a little more disappointed in myself.
You know there is part of me that wishes someone had cared enough to ask if I was alright. Not that people didn’t care, but no one was concerned. Which in turn made me feel worse. Realizing that I was so overweight, that when I starved myself to a point of reaching a true healthy weight I finally became more attractive. It confirmed everything I had been telling myself. It was definitive that being unhealthy would make me look healthy. That was all the confirmation I needed to understand that temporary was going to last a lot longer.
As the weeks went on, Kristen and I would talk about how exhausted we were and how that must mean it’s working. Even after our pact died off, I stopped eating as much and when I did, I felt so much guilt and shame I would cry myself to sleep – disgusted. The guilt radiated. It was like this evanescent glow lingering in the background of my mind: dim and worn but strong enough to pull me down. Taunting and teasing me- keeping me locked in the shadows of my own mind. Scared of myself and what I would do next, but ready to keep going anyway.
So when I started eating again and after the guilt had surmounted to an unreasonable amount, that was when I took to the toilet. I’ll be honest, the first time I tried, it did not go well, which ironically, makes that a good thing. With the thought of giving up looming, I dug into the resilient part of me and refused to let one try be the end all be all. So I tried again and you know what? I succeeded.
I started to indulge in the food from Southside Dining Center and would follow it up with a quick trip to the toilet to rid my body of the crap normally referred to as nutrients and sustenance.
I did try to stop. Multiple times. I actually remember one moment very clearly. I had just had sushi with friends and we were back in the dorm lounge. I had this combative conversation running through my mind –
Don’t do it. You know it’s not good for you.
So what? It feels good. Plus you just put a whole lot of fat and grime in your body why wouldn’t you?
Because it isn’t healthy. There are other ways.
None as quick or efficient as this.
I won’t give in.
But you will.
And I did. I sat in front of that toilet for ten minutes before I did anything that night. After puking everything out of my system, I knew I needed to call my mom.
Crying on the phone, I told her what had been going on. She did the right thing. Other than be the most supportive person I could have asked for, she told me I was coming home at the end of the semester and we would figure out what to do when I was back. Therapy was not a choice and in order to go back to school, I had to get things right again. I told no one why I was leaving except for the guy who would later be my first boyfriend. Sounds silly when I say it now, but I was ashamed of what I had allowed to become of myself. Since my self judgement was already heavy, I didn’t want the weight of other people’s thoughts and opinions too.
The funny thing is, I still didn’t achieve the body I wanted. It still wasn’t enough.
I wasn’t enough.
Having family right in the other room should have been some semblance of motivation, them watching out for me, but honestly, it never is because at the end of the day it all comes from inside. It’s my own self-worth that wasn’t measuring up. It was the constant comparisons and lack of emotionally stable parents growing up that led me down this trail of self-deprecating thoughts and actions.
(Of course I don’t blame them anymore. I believe people are just doing the best they can, even when it hurts. Things were what they were and I’m a better person today for all of it. I wouldn’t trade those experiences for the world.)
Jump forward another 10 years and we have reached present day me. The evolution of me has not been perfect and in these continuous blog posts I will continue to let you into the dark moments in my life as well as some of the brightest.
I am still on this journey. I still struggle with my body at times and I do have my bad days. Days when I find myself hovering over a toilet bowl or finding other ways to cleanse my system. It hurts and it is never fun and the wave of guilt that passes over never changes or lessens. It remains prominent and bold. Demanding of attention I do not wish to give it but somehow cater to all the same. Ashamed that no one will love me because I’m still struggling with this.
I wish I could say now I have achieved “perfect”, but this has been one of the biggest lessons in my life around the ideal of perfection:
If we constantly seek perfection, we will never get there. Skinny enough will never be enough. Strong enough will never be strong enough. Smart enough will never be enough. It’ll never be the right time or the right person. Nothing will ever be enough.
So why did I share all of this? Not to bring you down or give you a moment of woe is me, but to share that the continual search for perfection leads nowhere good.
Instead, I have been working on learning how to accept progress and let go of everything else. I don’t have to be perfect, and neither do you. We are human and the only thing that matters is finding love for ourselves in ourselves. This is not easy for a lot of people and I recognize that. All we can do is keep trying, putting one foot in front of the other.
I believe we are all capable of love. I believe we are all capable of loving ourselves for ourselves. Most importantly, I believe that we are destined for more than we will ever be able to give ourselves credit for.
These words do not come lightly. These words are from the bottom of my heart.
You are a gift. You are a gift as you are in this walk of life and in this moment. You will continue to be a gift and no matter what perfection you are struggling to achieve, I will be here to say I love you and you have a friend in me.
Love always is more than loving others, it’s loving ourselves too. Sometimes we just need to hear it first.
Love Always,
Riss