Power Shift

Starving makes me feel powerful. I get myself to that edge, the zero point where I am walking a physical and mental tightrope. Wobbling on the brink, daring myself to fall, breathless from the view and wishing I had the courage to let myself crash. I won’t lie: it’s miserable, exhausting, painful as hell. I won’t pretend I don’t feel that too. But at the same time, it’s transcendent, intoxicating, addictive. Yes, I know that it’s neurochemical, pathological, and unquestionably dysfunctional. Cognitive dissonance is a powerful thing, however, and what I know in theory about physiology, psychology, or even simple rationality is rarely applied to my own situation. It’s the power of going beyond what is supposed to be possible, of switching into machine mode and almost watching yourself from the outside. That disembodied, disconnected feeling that is the only way to separate from a self that I sometimes absolutely can’t bear to inhabit. That is the power that my mind tells me I get from anorexia.

But since I’ve been actually making an effort and challenging myself with more calories this week, I’m starting to experience a different kind of power. Energy, my friends, feels pretty damn good. Maybe I don’t want to be a machine anymore, this body can actually feel awesome when I’m not abusing it. This afternoon it struck me that it has been days since I got that empty, dizzy feeling before making myself fix something for lunch. I haven’t had rubber leg syndrome after my evening walks. I can’t remember a single heart palpitation over the past few days. What is this strange new world?

When I finished my workout this afternoon I felt pumped, psyched, powerful. I wanted to hit it again (but didn’t!), not to burn calories but just because it felt so great to move my body with this newfound energy. Yes, I’m still an overexercising endorphin junkie. That’s an issue, everything is a work in progress, but the point right now is that I can’t remember the last time I felt so exhilarated after a workout. Usually I just take the endorphins like another pill to be swallowed. I push myself through and mechanically check that workout off the list, then move on the next thing left to endure in my hypoglycemic haze. Usually I don't even register how my body feels before/after a workout. It's not relevant.

So, this healthy form of power is interesting. I guess the fact that being in a state of non-fatigue is such a novelty serves as a testimony to how backwards I have been for the past few months. Today I was just walking from one room to the other and I was struck by how nice it felt to move with a feeling of power rather than weary penance.

It’s amazing how we can become accustomed to feeling so terrible all the time, and forget that there is any other way to be. It’s like hanging onto your favorite pair of running shoes for way too long, insisting on using them out of nostalgia. They’re familiar, comforting, safe, they’re what you’re used to. Then you finally get a new pair, and are shocked at how great they feel, you had no idea how flat and unsupportive the soles on the old shoes were until you forced yourself to try the new ones on. Ok, this is the least graceful metaphor I think I have ever attempted to construct, but hopefully y’all get my point.

I know I have a long way to go. I know it won’t be smooth sailing. I am still having a lot of anxiety over the calories I’ve added, and I have the Buddha belly feeling, I hate that. I know it’s mostly in my head, but it still feels disruptively real. The amount of weight I’ve put on this week is pretty negligible, but my energy and vitality levels are noticeably improved, and I think that is helping me to shift gears a little bit and realize just what it is I’m fighting for. It’s interesting to realize how great it feels to be not-dying, and it makes it seem like maybe this is ugly war--this chronic power struggle--is worth winning after all.