At some point during that search effort, I pulled down a box that was still sealed from my last move (probably from my last 2 or 3 moves, actually). I knew it didn't have the socks, but opened it anyway just out of curiosity.
Then I realized why I'd left it sealed.
It was a collection of journals, letters, photos, scrawled poems, and other things basically chronicling my anorexia, anxiety, and angst from grades 7-12:
- Agonized writings (poems, essays, journals, some printouts of an ED recovery forum I belonged to) about being depressed and hopeless and hopelessly in denial about my eating disorder.
- Pictures (which will never, ever see the light of day on Facebook or anywhere else) of me looking like a marionette skeleton (and being completely oblivious to that fact).
- My dog-eared and thoroughly highlighted copy of the book Wasted.
- The prayer journal I kept for about a year, back when I was a super-devout church-goer, where I basically just chatted to God every night before I went to bed. I was so afraid I was "crazy" because I was being punished for something, or that if that wasn't the case, that I deserved to be punished for being so shallow (see Sarah's excellent post addressing this guilt/sinfulness issue).
- The best graduation gift ever (sorry I had to photoshop the name out of the top star)...I know the person who gave this too me may be reading this, and if so, you know who you are and what was in this notebook: love you girl, you are a beautiful person and I hope you know how much you helped me get through those years.
- Tracy Gold's autobiography and a few other very EDish books that I must have felt obliged to keep hidden at some point before I moved out on my own.
- And a single artifact from college: a copy of the magazine with the article featuring me discussing anorexia (and the first use of my Cammy pseudonym) done for a local women's magazine.
Quote from journal, from my freshman year and first relapse since my initial bout of anorexia in the 7th grade:
My heart is freaky this week and I've only been sleeping a couple of hours a night. It feels like a sick bird in my chest, and sometimes I start to get light-headed before I realize I've been holding my breath waiting for it to calm down. I feel so hopeless, like every day is just a countdown of hours I have to endure, and then the whole thing replays itself the next day, and the next, and the thought of a whole life of that makes me want to throw myself off the nearest bridge, I feel like this is a black hole and nobody in the entire world will ever understand what it's like in my head. And if they did, they'd be disgusted. I feel like I'm in a glass box watching the world happen but unable to reach out and be a part of it.
Entries of this type were common for 4-5 years at least, basically 2005 until I went to college and got too busy to journal.
It has put me in a heavy mood all day, for reasons I don't even know if I can articulate. Just weird and sobering to have a box full of evidence of years and years of wasted life, I guess. Sat and had a good cry for the wraith-girl in the pictures that I treated so badly.
I guess it was a form of self pity? I feel so sorry and ashamed for what I did to the girl in those photos.
But maybe I needed that, because it also made me so glad for what I am and what I have now. Not a finished product by any stretch of the imagination, but a damn legitimate work in progress, and, for better or worse, I wouldn't be who I am today without that history.
Maybe it's a good time to put a link to the newest song on my Recovery playlist, because it just seems relevant to the whole "looking back at how far you've come" theme. I thought it was a bit hokey the first time I heard it, but the more I listen to it the more it gets to me.
Love y'all.
5 comments:
I've had similar experiences looking back on "memorabilia" of my badly eating disordered days. I just moved earlier this week, so part of the process was getting rid of most of it -- an ID bracelet from inpatient, old clothes that no longer fit (and never should have), old looseleaf with disordered musings. I'd hung onto it through the two previous moves, but this time it was into the trash. I don't need or want it.
What do you plan on doing with your "stash"? Do you think it's useful to keep, or is it a part of your past that can be thrown out? (I don't know that there's one right answer for everybody...just curious.)
PS - I too, have more pairs of hiking socks than I have heels. Smartwool (well, mostly the cheaper REI version thereof) FTW!
You and your hiking socks.
Onto more serious things...I hate moments like these when you get trapped in a past that you wish wasn't yours but is. You can't really NOT acknowledge it, but you wish it was different somehow. This box sounds...loaded. Have you shared this discovery and your feelings with Match? The reason that I ask is because this is what would happen with me: I would find this box, read through it, feel really mixed up about it, "deal with it" on my own, and then blow up about something else later because I hadn't fully let myself process my emotions or share them because it would involve being vulnerable. Usually this would happen in an interaction with D. And usually, (why am I making this hypothetical? It's happened several times!) I wind up telling him everything after my seemingly random explosion/crying fit and he just gives me a hug and tells me it's okay, and I feel a lot better.
I think writing about it here (like you did) is so healthy and good. Sometimes you just need to share what you have been through, and be reminded that it's okay to have a past...and that your past doesn't have to be or dictate your future. So that's what I'm telling you. And this is my hug through the computer screen. XOXO
Does Marya Hornbacher know that her book because an "Anorexia: How to Guide?" -- she has to I'm sure. I've been curious about that lately.
I mean it's sad. She was just writing a MEMOIR. Do people that read MADNESS want to become fucking bipolar?? Or alcoholic??
Eating disorders are just soooooo freaking crazy. You just can't write a book on the topic without someone using it as a guide to living. I know many of you reading are probably writing something but stop for a second and ask yourself -- what's different about your book? You don't use numbers? So what? People will be triggered by ANYTHING, unfortunately.
I'm not saying these books should be banned or anything but I do think that...they maybe aren't helpful.
Um, but YAY for having more hiking socks than heels, because heels are stupid.
"I feel like I'm in a glass box watching the world happen but unable to reach out and be a part of it."
That's freaky, because back in 2009 I wrote:
"I feel like I’m watching an amazing party from within a glass box. It’s almost close enough to touch, but I can’t reach past the barriers."
I find it fascinating how anorexia makes people think, feel and say such similar things, regardless of their background or circumstances.
Anyway, I went through the same thing last year when I moved up north and dug out/burnt/digitalised all of my old diaries. It's weird feeling sorry for someone you hated so intensely years ago. I like your conclusion though :)
Interestingly, I find that I have NO journal entries from my sickest times (age 13 and age 19). I think I got so wrapped up in my own head that the idea of trying to articulate my thoughts was just too overwhelming.
It makes me so sad to remember how awful I was to myself at 13. At that age kids are already so fragile and don't necessarily have the emotional maturity to take care of themselves. I sometimes wish I could go back and redo it, or at least just to give my 13-year-old self a little perspective.
Hope you have a fantastic trip!
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