I've had another epiphany - I'm on a roll, am I not? (Slightly sarcastic here. And slightly not.)
It's been a long time that I've actually sat in front of my computer and typed this. I mostly blog via email these days because the need to write something down usually doesn't come over me when it suits me well. It either happens when I'm typing on my phone, or when I'm at work. The whole blogspot-interface looks unfamiliar by now.
So. Two things happened. And they came about in conversations with the two people that have the most insight into, well, me. M and F.
When M talked to me and told me that she didn't think that any sane and healthy person could fall for an eating disorder and that she could very well understand why I acted the way I did. Not only was that a huge relief - but it also got me thinking about how I've been around food and myself as a kid.
There's this book. Which is intended to help people overcome their eating disorder. But honestly, it's a huge motivation/thinspo/role model of how to really fuck up. "Wasted" by Marya Hornbacher (see an article here - an article that actually motivates me to get an updated edition, though the thought of re-reading it terrifies me because I know of the book's possibly triggering influence). Anyways. So there's this book. And it begins with a flashback. Marya at a very young age. I remember envying her. Having felt like that this early, and I only began developing my ED at 15-ish, 16. She was like the ideal - the role model, the idol - all that I wanted to be. (Yeah, we're going deep down into fucked-up-wonderland here.) And she had started so early! It was like her path had been laid out in front of her all along. And I struggled so hard to be fucked up. I could never be as sick as her. It was unfair, really, that I hadn't been ED'ed at a young age. - I really remember thinking and regretting that. M's words made me have a look at my childhood again. And there's some truth in her words.
But it needed another conversation with F to open my eyes. We weren't talking about anything of much substance. Like, only chatting - not touching issues on purpose. We were talking about a hiking tour that I wanted to do in September. Scotland. Now, I'm not much of an outdoor person. Like, I have my dog and I walk him and I enjoy walking him in the forest for two hours or so, but that's about it. I don't like camping much, I have no orientational skills whatsoever. I'm not too fond of nature, growing up in the city. Like, I don't panic when I see a spider, but I guess you get the idea. I'm also not really in shape. I'm also not extremely adventurous. Like I have to do this or that. All these new trending activities that apparently you have to do when you're in your twenties. Like surfing. Or hitch hiking. Or traveling with no plan where to go. I'm a boring person, to be honest. Or, let's phrase it somewhat positively: calm, reasonable, down to earth, content with my every day life.
London has been some kind of trial for that. Of course, going to a city is quite different from the Scottish highlands, but still. I was there somewhat on my own. Well. With WhatsApp and my friends and a stuffed cow to take pictures with.
Anyways. We were talking about him teaching me how to read a map and use a compass, because I have no clue at all how that works. And we were joking. About how he really needs to teach me those skills or I might never come back. Now, I know that I'm not a quick learner when it comes to these skills. And I was jokingly asking him how big his wish was to hike through the Scottish Highlands (to guide me). And when he said that if we really got along as well in real life as we do online, then I could ask him again and maybe he'd say yes to accompanying me. That's when it really struck me that I needed to at least walk part of the way completely on my own. To really find my own way. To learn to listen to my body. Rest when I need rest, eat when I'm hungry, turn left when I feel like turning left. Camp on my own. Really be self-sufficient. Just me and nature.
I always knew that Scotland was a challenge that I needed to master. That it was something I have to do. But only by casually dropping the comment that I need this trip to learn to trust and rely upon my own body because I have never ever done so, I realized why I needed it so much.
Turns out I've been fucked up all my life. Oddly enough, this is some kind of relief. It lifts some of the guilt of enforcing my ED off my shoulders. I've always been estranged from my body. Always. Stories my parents used to tell me come to mind now.
I don't recall much of my childhood. I'm always impressed when people are able to tell you what they did with 6 years, or even last week. I have a bad memory when it comes to these things. Not that I don't pay attention, or that things are not important to me - I just tend to mix them up. Anyways. My parents like to tell me how when I was a toddler I would be really, really careful when getting into the sandbox. Other kids would run into it, sometimes falling face first into the sand. But I would walk to the edge of the sandbox, then turn around and, gripping the edge, first step into the box with one foot, then the next. And if I fell, I'd fall on my butt. - Sounds cute, doesn't it? Like a really, really careful child who doesn't want to get dirty. Who looks out for herself.
I think the reason for me acting that way is a different one. I think that I didn't trust my body. I think that I took the most "elegant" and careful way so as to not humiliate myself and because I didn't trust that I'd not fall on my face. That explanation just feels ... right. I'm not saying that I can recall climbing into that sandbox, hell, no. But I can see myself. And I just feel like that's the reason.
I also remember not climbing fences. Because I was afraid I wouldn't make it. I didn't trust my body enough to pull me up. I remember physical education. How I wouldn't do any of the more risky exercises. Like it took me weeks to dare to try the forward roll, and some more till I had enough courage to try the backward roll. Because I didn't trust my body that I could do it. As a teen, I took trampoline classes before I started playing Basketball. And I always sticked to the easy exercises because I didn't dare try a flip or something alike.
It all falls into place right now. All these memories. These little bits and pieces that I've never connected.
I don't think I ever thought of my body and mind as a unit. As belonging together. That my body is a part of me. And that I can rely upon it. That it'll carry me. That I can actually achieve something. On my own. It's sad, really.
But I've always been fucked up.
The bottom line is: I won't go hiking this September. I'll go next year, in May or something. I'll go hiking in Germany, and I'll try to get into shape to manage the Highlands. And while I don't fucking want to be alone for eight days or something, I also need to be alone for some days. Maybe a friend will accompany me for half of the way. I thought of combining two hiking tours. It's all just an idea so far. But one that needs to become reality. Soon.
I feel that I am getting closer to getting better. Somehow. Seeing these connections helps me understand and reflect and get better in the end. But if I ever want to become one, I need to learn to trust my body.
xoxo
Kiwi
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