While I was in residential treatment for four months to get help for my eating disorder (anorexia/bulimia), I had a few conversations with my father who was not paying for or helped me to find treatment. During one phone conversation, I hastily scribbled down everything he was saying.
I had not spoken to my father in three weeks, and I get a call from him one day. It started off like a normal conversation. He asks what I'm doing, how I'm feeling... nothing much to report. Then, out of the blue, he says that he is one hour away, driving to come visit me tomorrow. The issue with this is that he lives 2,000 miles away (TWO THOUSAND) and was calling to tell me that he was one hour away and was planning on coming to see me at my residential. Well, unfortunately, the residential I was staying at doesn't just let anyone come to visit, and unfortunately, due to the trauma work I was currently undergoing regarding my father, my entire treatment team said no, he could not visit. Maybe they were wrong in that decision. Maybe I was letting them control me. Maybe I should have at least put up a fight to let him visit - after all, he drove all the way out from (my home state) to come visit!
After finding out that he would not be allowed to visit, he called me to unleash his feelings about it in one, long-winded rant. I have written down a lot of what he was saying. It doesn't capture the entire conversation, but a lot of what he did say, he said over and over, to reiterate his point.
---
"They don't care about you; they are hurting you."
"You are in a nuthouse and your mom visists you everyday. It's sickening."
"Because they aren't letting me visit, I know they are incompetent. But your mom's checks are cleared so they let her visit."
"It's like a bad movie; no one's going to believe this."
"I should have stressed this to you; she's (my mom) not going to help you."
Dad: "I'm very concerned for getting arrested tomorrow for molesting my daughter," (this is to show what 'lies' my mother and I have told my treatment team and what will happen because of that).
Me: Who thinks you molested me?"
Dad: Anyone that knows your mother.
"You've got to realize that your mother is insane."
"I know you are confused, but you have got to understahnd that this is insane. Your mother is insane."
"Your mother abandoned you and she gets to visit you. I don't. This is insane. Your mom is closer to (brother) and how many times has she visited him? And now that you are in a nuthouse, she visits you everyday. No one is going to believe this, but it's my life."
"If they don't know after ten days of talking to you that your mother is insane, they are incompetent."
"They should realize that your mother is insane."
"I'm not allowed to come visit. This place is incompetent and you need to get out now."
"There's nothing they can do. They are incompitent."
"You must have realized by now that your mother is absolutely insane."
"I hope you are not upset."
"I don't get to visit. It's like a stab in the heart. It's like you are in a cult. I'm afraid they are brainwashing you."
"Don't get upset or anything."
----
I told him I needed to hang up because call times were over and they were shutting the phones off. He changed tact at a speed faster than light - he became sarcastic and humorous. He said something about how it was like I was in jail and made fun of the 'skinny girls' that I was living with. I don't know. Whatever.
Once he finished, he changed tact at a speed faster than light. He suddenly became sarcastic and humorous, making
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Sunday, April 22, 2012
The Cat's Eyes are Sad.
I've seen it all. really, I have. I've seen the world of my owner; I've seen nothing but her dark side. I've seen her dreams eat her alive. I've seen her tremor at night, teeth gritted and eyes open wide as if searching for the breast of an absent mother. I've felt her breath quicken in a panicked rhythm, small guttural whimpers escaping through the frenzied inhalations and exhalations. I've seen more. I've seen her seclude herself in her room to escape, eating Halloween candy at the foot of her bed; the beginning of a slow, sad descent into a twisted relationship with food. One time, she tried to teach me what sex was after coming home from school. She told me what girls and boys did when their faces got red and their clothes came off. She taught me other things. Hee hee. A futile attempt - a cotton cat with a marble in its throat can't masturbate.
I've seen her come into her room after school and take that metallic thing you clip fingernails with... she would disassemble it and make big, swiping motions on her thighs until red lines would emerge from beneath the pinkness of her flesh. I never knew what blood was until she started doing this. I learned that blood was the tears of the body. Red. Such a scary color to me. I hope it's not inside of me.
I've seen her get into this creative fugue states, where she'd sit and draw or color with a fixed expression on her face. She was manic about doing projects for other people. For her father most of all. She'd create advertisements for her next big book, "Miko: Coming July 1997!" And then July 1997 would come and go, and she'd have no book to give her father, and she felt so disappointed in herself.
I learned that glass bottles contain a liquid that makes my owner fall over and bang her head. Sometimes it makes her laugh and sometimes it makes her cry. Usually it makes her come home late and pass out on the carpet.
I watched her when she discovered that her vanity mirror doubled as a very convenient counter-top for something that looked like snow. She called it cocaine and she seemed to love it so. I know I told you that I have never felt sadness, but I believe that I came very close to sadness when I saw her bend over for the first time to snort the white powder up her nose.
I came very close to sadness when I watched her sit up, eyes open and blank and nostrils numb. I felt sad because she didn't really care about me when she was doing drugs.
I watched her throw up into plastic cups in her room because she needed to get the food out of her. I didn't understand. Sometimes, she'd put me away because she thought I was looking. Oh honey, I've always been looking. And I've always been listening.
I don't really care much for her dad. He's very annoying and immature. I would even go so far as to say insidious, but because I don't have much of a connection with him, I couldn't be bothered to use such strong words. I was there when I watched the father pin the daughter down on her bed with a hand around her throat, the other balled up in a fist pulled back ready to strike. He growled at her through gritted teeth and said: "God, I want to punch you in the face right now." I watched him fondle her neck, sometimes to terrorize, sometimes to tickle her. Her face would turn bright red and she'd begin to sweat, and there was a strange look in her father's eyes, like he was doubly horrified and excited with something he was trying so hard to suppress.
Sometimes she would fall asleep next to her door because she had been straining her ear for so long, trying to hear the sneering voice of her father who would pace the kitchen, muttering under his breath about his daughter, about his wife. The father went on an on to himself. "Brat...monster....slob....pig....snot....MONSTER!" he growled.
There were good days. The good days were nice. . She would put me in her blankee and carry me around. I've been all around the world! I've been to a place called Michigan and a place called Chicago. I've been to a place called San Francisco and a place called 'the mountains.' I've sat with her and her brother and father around a warm, glowing light called 'fire' that moved and occasionally made popping noises. It was glorious.
I bet you think this girl is crazy. I don't know what crazy is, but I know that she was all I ever had. She brought me across the country, she tucked me into bed at night, and she stroked my head and behind my ears. Often, she would look into the two marbles that are my eyes and would frown at how sad they looked. I know that she often wonders what it is that has etched this sorrowful expression onto me, but I would never be able to tell her. I don't know if I could. I think she gave me this sad little face without knowing it.
I told you that I've seen the world, fraught with very intense emotions like anger and fear. There is a tall dark man that gets a kick out of humiliating children. There is a 'special' kind of snow that becomes more important than other humans. Glass bottles make my owner lazy and unstable. Guilt, confusion, shame, and anxiety are thick and revolting and keep emotions locked up and buried. There is blood, purposely drawn out for a reason I cannot think of. Perhaps it is sacrificial - blood spilled for the terrible God I have seen enter the room (whom my owner calls 'Daddy'). I have the seen the world, and my ears have drooped and my once bright fur has become dirtied and dreaded. My plastic whiskers are bent and must look all askew, and my glossy marble eyes have become scratched and hidden from my furrowed brow. I have seen the world and I still carry a part of my owner that she could never keep in herself. I will hold on to that piece of her until it is safe for her to hold it within herself. For now, the little cotton kitty called 'Puddy' will hide among the pillows of her bed and sleep with her at night and be with her as she dreams up a memory of where she had hidden a piece of herself long ago.
I've seen her come into her room after school and take that metallic thing you clip fingernails with... she would disassemble it and make big, swiping motions on her thighs until red lines would emerge from beneath the pinkness of her flesh. I never knew what blood was until she started doing this. I learned that blood was the tears of the body. Red. Such a scary color to me. I hope it's not inside of me.
I've seen her get into this creative fugue states, where she'd sit and draw or color with a fixed expression on her face. She was manic about doing projects for other people. For her father most of all. She'd create advertisements for her next big book, "Miko: Coming July 1997!" And then July 1997 would come and go, and she'd have no book to give her father, and she felt so disappointed in herself.
I learned that glass bottles contain a liquid that makes my owner fall over and bang her head. Sometimes it makes her laugh and sometimes it makes her cry. Usually it makes her come home late and pass out on the carpet.
I watched her when she discovered that her vanity mirror doubled as a very convenient counter-top for something that looked like snow. She called it cocaine and she seemed to love it so. I know I told you that I have never felt sadness, but I believe that I came very close to sadness when I saw her bend over for the first time to snort the white powder up her nose.
I came very close to sadness when I watched her sit up, eyes open and blank and nostrils numb. I felt sad because she didn't really care about me when she was doing drugs.
I watched her throw up into plastic cups in her room because she needed to get the food out of her. I didn't understand. Sometimes, she'd put me away because she thought I was looking. Oh honey, I've always been looking. And I've always been listening.
I don't really care much for her dad. He's very annoying and immature. I would even go so far as to say insidious, but because I don't have much of a connection with him, I couldn't be bothered to use such strong words. I was there when I watched the father pin the daughter down on her bed with a hand around her throat, the other balled up in a fist pulled back ready to strike. He growled at her through gritted teeth and said: "God, I want to punch you in the face right now." I watched him fondle her neck, sometimes to terrorize, sometimes to tickle her. Her face would turn bright red and she'd begin to sweat, and there was a strange look in her father's eyes, like he was doubly horrified and excited with something he was trying so hard to suppress.
Sometimes she would fall asleep next to her door because she had been straining her ear for so long, trying to hear the sneering voice of her father who would pace the kitchen, muttering under his breath about his daughter, about his wife. The father went on an on to himself. "Brat...monster....slob....pig....snot....MONSTER!" he growled.
There were good days. The good days were nice. . She would put me in her blankee and carry me around. I've been all around the world! I've been to a place called Michigan and a place called Chicago. I've been to a place called San Francisco and a place called 'the mountains.' I've sat with her and her brother and father around a warm, glowing light called 'fire' that moved and occasionally made popping noises. It was glorious.
I bet you think this girl is crazy. I don't know what crazy is, but I know that she was all I ever had. She brought me across the country, she tucked me into bed at night, and she stroked my head and behind my ears. Often, she would look into the two marbles that are my eyes and would frown at how sad they looked. I know that she often wonders what it is that has etched this sorrowful expression onto me, but I would never be able to tell her. I don't know if I could. I think she gave me this sad little face without knowing it.
I told you that I've seen the world, fraught with very intense emotions like anger and fear. There is a tall dark man that gets a kick out of humiliating children. There is a 'special' kind of snow that becomes more important than other humans. Glass bottles make my owner lazy and unstable. Guilt, confusion, shame, and anxiety are thick and revolting and keep emotions locked up and buried. There is blood, purposely drawn out for a reason I cannot think of. Perhaps it is sacrificial - blood spilled for the terrible God I have seen enter the room (whom my owner calls 'Daddy'). I have the seen the world, and my ears have drooped and my once bright fur has become dirtied and dreaded. My plastic whiskers are bent and must look all askew, and my glossy marble eyes have become scratched and hidden from my furrowed brow. I have seen the world and I still carry a part of my owner that she could never keep in herself. I will hold on to that piece of her until it is safe for her to hold it within herself. For now, the little cotton kitty called 'Puddy' will hide among the pillows of her bed and sleep with her at night and be with her as she dreams up a memory of where she had hidden a piece of herself long ago.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Naughty Pictures
Beginning as early as I could hold a pen and draw pictures, I recall hiding in my room too many times to count and drawing pictures of Eden - landscapes of beauty, lush green, trees and flowers. The water was flowing and the flowers bloomed and every creature lived in harmony. The animals had silly little smiles on their faces. Deer drank from ponds and lions hung around beneath trees posing no threat to the other creatures nearby. Then on the second page, I would draw a picture of the same landscape, except after being absolutely utterly destroyed - fucking eaten alive by vicious jaws of metallic death - bulldozers and cranes uprooting tree trunks. It was the devastation and utter annihilation of Eden. I became horrified at myself when I drew the jagged stumps of the trees after they were hacked away at with an axe. I drew black pools of sludge and smoggy clouds in the once clear blue sky. The animals were tethered and chained and being forced to move elsewhere (to where, I could not say). An elephant had a shackle around each foot and a chain connecting each shackle. His eyes drooped and tears ran down around its tusks. There were dead bodies littering the valleys and machines dotting the vista, heavy at work at destroying the land.
I drew these pictures compulsively. It elicited something strange when I watched Eden transform into a wasteland. I found that I could not comprehend what was happening on the paper in front of me. It shocked me, and intrigued me, and enthralled me, and hypnotized me, and made me deeply terrified at something that I felt I was partly guilty of.
I hid these pictures in my room in one of my drawers. I never told anyone about them. I've never talked about them. I've never even written about them (until now of course). I never told my parents, and would be afraid if anyone did discover them. I didn't know what they meant, but I was ashamed of them. And yet, could not stop drawing these pictures.
I am writing about this because I feel like it is important. I feel like it is a very early sign of the same thing I am struggling with now - the root of the problem that I cannot name. This inability to understand the annihilation of goodness before me has manifested itself in a myriad of ways. I am in treatment now for an eating disorder and other things, and I know it's all connected. Anyway. Just some thoughts.
...
I drew these pictures compulsively. It elicited something strange when I watched Eden transform into a wasteland. I found that I could not comprehend what was happening on the paper in front of me. It shocked me, and intrigued me, and enthralled me, and hypnotized me, and made me deeply terrified at something that I felt I was partly guilty of.
I hid these pictures in my room in one of my drawers. I never told anyone about them. I've never talked about them. I've never even written about them (until now of course). I never told my parents, and would be afraid if anyone did discover them. I didn't know what they meant, but I was ashamed of them. And yet, could not stop drawing these pictures.
I am writing about this because I feel like it is important. I feel like it is a very early sign of the same thing I am struggling with now - the root of the problem that I cannot name. This inability to understand the annihilation of goodness before me has manifested itself in a myriad of ways. I am in treatment now for an eating disorder and other things, and I know it's all connected. Anyway. Just some thoughts.
...
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Orant Pose - The Feminine Channeling Cosmic Energy
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| "The Truth" - Ferdinand Hodler, 1902 |
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| Pre-dynastic female figurine, Egypt |
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| Livia in the Basilica of Otricoli |
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| "Female Goddess Figurine", Little Palace at Knossos |
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| Magura Caves, Bulgaria (see figure to the left?) |
A collection of some pictures - all in "Orant Pose." Of course, there are many theories regarding this posture, but I think getting into specifics will ruin the magic. ;)
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Emotional Obsession, Sexual Attraction, Looking for Mother: ???
*The important questions are at the end of the post.*
I suppose the point of having this infinitesimal bit of - s p a c e - on the interwebz is to communicate my life experiences in a 100% honest way, and as a testament to myself to be more honest and forthcoming about hidden opinions and emotions I'm having, there is something that I'm trying to flesh out and understand. It has to do with these very intense emotional attachments I have with older women.
I recently spent four months at a residential treatment facility for depression, a really fucking horrible eating disorder, and a "tendency" to abuse alcohol. So - after leaving treatment, I was feeling a bit better. I had been "behavior free" for a good while, but the underlying depression and the nagging death-wish that has been shadowing me since I was a small child was still tainting my attempt to exist. Since discharging from treatment, I have been doing a partial hospitalization program in Chicago, attending 6 - 8 hours of groups a day. I eat two meals there - lunch and dinner. I usually skip breakfast because I know I will be forced to eat later. And I usually binge and purge at night after groups. So I wonder how much progress I made at residential treatment.
This isn't why I wanted to make a blog post.
When I take away the drugs, the alcohol, the other various forms of self sabotage and -some- of the throwing up after meals, I am left to deal with the behavioral/emotional issues I had abandoned when I was a teenager because they were catastrophically extreme and misunderstood by the "support" system I was raised in. I have a pattern of being EXTREMELY emotionally enraptured by certain older females. I used to think they were just random crushes growing up - teachers in school, camp counselors, therapists, a boss at work, etc. Thus, I had always thought I was bisexual (and at times, full blown gay). But the nature of these 'crushes' demanded further investigation, because they always seemed to be women who were somehow *looking after* me.
High school aside, now that I have been going through the system of psychological treatment, I meet with older women on a daily basis who are, according to their titles, are to look after me and oversee my health. In fact, I haven't been in a position like this - where there are older women taking care of me - since I was 18 or so, and it's like a younger version of me is coming around for another cycle and I'm being reminded of all of these feelings that I used to have.
Anyway, I'm going to use one example of a woman who works with me at my PHP program. She is the dietitian that works with my treatment team. She meets with me once a week to see how I am doing with my meal plan, how I am doing with eating disorder behaviors, makes goals with me, and discusses anything else that may be on my mind. So 'Erica' is - I think - extremely attractive, and she has these really wide, open intense eyes that always seem to be really interested in what I'm saying. She seems very confident and laid-back, (unlike many psychiatric professionals who always seem so uncertain and on-edge dealing with the mentally unwell). She is genuinely interested in me being healthy and following a stable meal plan. I really like her. (Boring anecdote) >>> The first day I had a meal at the PHP was lunch, and I had brought in a apple on steroids, (seriously, it was the size of a baby's head). I didn't want to finish it because it was fucking huge. So Erica came over and knelt down next to me and asked me: "What's going on?" I shrugged and said I didn't want to fnisih the apple. She said I had to. I said I didn't want to. She said she'd go get me an applesauce to finish instead. So she came back with a strawberry applesauce. I ate half of it and started to gather up my things to go to my next group. She said I had to finish the applesauce. I said I thought it would be okay since I finished half the apple and I was compensating by eating half of the applesauce. Well! Apparently this was not 'healthy' behavior, so she sat with me until I finished my applesauce! <<<<< (end anecdote)
So, I thought I hated Erica after that first day and called her a 'meal support Nazi.' But after the first week, I started really wanting more of her attention. No - craving her attention. I found that after our first appointment that I was just spilling out words to her, and I didn't think she would judge me. I was startled and excited by how open I could be with her. It was one thing to sit in an office with her, but another to have her in the kitchen, making sure we all ate our meals. I have a difficult time finishing meals that I don't want to eat, but I found that Erica sitting next to me, encouraging me and giving me attention was the most exciting thing to ever happen to me. Two nights ago, I was picking at my Alfredo pasta like it was covered in cat hair. She came over and tapped her finger on the crossword puzzle I was looking at to snap me out of my trance and gave me a look, and then knelt down next to me. I don't remember exactly what she said, but I felt like my heart was just melting, and her eyes were so compassionate and beautiful that I wanted her to take care of me forever. She said: "I don't want you to be sick anymore. You can do it." Something, something. I don't know. I finished my meal after that. Three other staff members were telling me the same thing, but the way Erica said it was so beautiful.
If I were to be completely honest with my feelings, I would say that I want Erica to pay attention to me. I want her to take care of me, I want her to hold my hand and show me the way. I want her to laugh with me and encourage me and think I am great and creative and unique. I want her to sit with me at meal-times. Although I absolutely HATE having to finish meals (because, just being real here, I DO have a twisted relationship with food), it's mixed in with the utter ecstasy of Erica having to take care of me. It's really confusing. Because I REALLY REALLY want Erica to pay attention to me, and to love me, but I can't get that from her when I'm completing all of my meals and not using behaviors. If I imagine telling her during an appointment that I didn't eat breakfast and threw up after lunch, (which is true most days) then her response of "what are we going to do, Meghan?" gets me weirdly excited. Like, she cares! She wants to work with me? Someone cares... My last session with her, she told me that she was 'really worried about me.' ANd my mind translated that as, she cares! She is thinking of me! She sees I am struggling! I'm not struggling on purpose I don't think. But what an added bonus to struggle and have someone care!
Plus, I think Erica is just beautiful. She's not like, maternal beautiful though. And see, I was thinking that maybe these emotional obsessions are because I am craving the mother that I never had as a child, but there is a weird sexual element wrapped up in all of this. Erica is like, absurdly skinny for being a dietitian, first of all. But I think she is so fucking perfect, and her voice is just divine, and looking into her eyes is like a reminder that angels do exist! I spend forever thinking of what to wear in the morning because I am trying to imagine it from Erica's point of view - how will she think I look in this? Will she think I look skinny and underfed like a malnourished child? Will she think I look like a boy in this? Will I be showing my 'feminine' side with this top? What will she think? Will it get her attention? And then I would imagine her coming on to me during one of our appointments... until I realized that would be incredibly unrealistic.
And it doesn't stop at Erica... I have a huge crush on my PHP group facilitator. Who is gorgeous, thin, and has sparkling eyes like the moon on water. I can't even concentrate in groups because she is in there. I purposely don't finish my snack so she will give me that AMAZING look which induces such ecstasy and excitement from inside of me! She notices! She cares! She is laughing at me, as if we are sharing a secret - that look that says 'you know you're not supposed to do that! But I love you anyway!'
It's indescribable! It's so utterly transcendent! How can I focus on recovering from my eating disorder when I've so distracted myself with so many women who seem to be genuinely concerned for my well-being! I'm afraid to not be sick because then they won't care about me.
I'm not sure what to call these... things. They aren't crushes. They are more like... intense emotional attachments not otherwise specified (not sexual, not even platonic). They are distracting, yes. But I feel like it is MORE than just being a way to distract myself from addressing my real issues. I feel as if there is meaning there; a pattern. It's more than just a coping tool because this has been a CONTINUAL pattern! And they all share something! I am CRAVING a certain something from a certain someone who occupies a certain role, and I want to figure out what it is so I can at least figure out to make my life function a little better for me!
....
After a few weeks passing, I have developed my feelings so they are a little bit clearer to me. These aren't sexual crushes I'm having. These are intense emotional attachments. I want their attention. I want to be a child and I want them to be my mother. That would be the ONLY way to get unconditional love and attention from them! I know that's the underlying feeling. Why do I feel such an aversion for my own mother's love and attention? I have a mother - why am I craving these other women? What's wrong with me? Why do I feel inherently disgusted by my own biological mother? Am I evil for wanting total attention from these women? I suppose if I were throwing temper tantrums during groups for attention, then I'd have something to worry about. But I'm not. I do love the attention I get when I absolutely need help, but I don't think I am going out of my way to make myself known. I would like to be mindful of these feelings I am having, but I am also aware there is a part of me that really doesn't want to relinquish the fantasy of having their undivided attention.
I like when they smile at me. I like when they laugh at me. The feeling makes me think that life has meaning.
I suppose the point of having this infinitesimal bit of - s p a c e - on the interwebz is to communicate my life experiences in a 100% honest way, and as a testament to myself to be more honest and forthcoming about hidden opinions and emotions I'm having, there is something that I'm trying to flesh out and understand. It has to do with these very intense emotional attachments I have with older women.
I recently spent four months at a residential treatment facility for depression, a really fucking horrible eating disorder, and a "tendency" to abuse alcohol. So - after leaving treatment, I was feeling a bit better. I had been "behavior free" for a good while, but the underlying depression and the nagging death-wish that has been shadowing me since I was a small child was still tainting my attempt to exist. Since discharging from treatment, I have been doing a partial hospitalization program in Chicago, attending 6 - 8 hours of groups a day. I eat two meals there - lunch and dinner. I usually skip breakfast because I know I will be forced to eat later. And I usually binge and purge at night after groups. So I wonder how much progress I made at residential treatment.
This isn't why I wanted to make a blog post.
When I take away the drugs, the alcohol, the other various forms of self sabotage and -some- of the throwing up after meals, I am left to deal with the behavioral/emotional issues I had abandoned when I was a teenager because they were catastrophically extreme and misunderstood by the "support" system I was raised in. I have a pattern of being EXTREMELY emotionally enraptured by certain older females. I used to think they were just random crushes growing up - teachers in school, camp counselors, therapists, a boss at work, etc. Thus, I had always thought I was bisexual (and at times, full blown gay). But the nature of these 'crushes' demanded further investigation, because they always seemed to be women who were somehow *looking after* me.
High school aside, now that I have been going through the system of psychological treatment, I meet with older women on a daily basis who are, according to their titles, are to look after me and oversee my health. In fact, I haven't been in a position like this - where there are older women taking care of me - since I was 18 or so, and it's like a younger version of me is coming around for another cycle and I'm being reminded of all of these feelings that I used to have.
Anyway, I'm going to use one example of a woman who works with me at my PHP program. She is the dietitian that works with my treatment team. She meets with me once a week to see how I am doing with my meal plan, how I am doing with eating disorder behaviors, makes goals with me, and discusses anything else that may be on my mind. So 'Erica' is - I think - extremely attractive, and she has these really wide, open intense eyes that always seem to be really interested in what I'm saying. She seems very confident and laid-back, (unlike many psychiatric professionals who always seem so uncertain and on-edge dealing with the mentally unwell). She is genuinely interested in me being healthy and following a stable meal plan. I really like her. (Boring anecdote) >>> The first day I had a meal at the PHP was lunch, and I had brought in a apple on steroids, (seriously, it was the size of a baby's head). I didn't want to finish it because it was fucking huge. So Erica came over and knelt down next to me and asked me: "What's going on?" I shrugged and said I didn't want to fnisih the apple. She said I had to. I said I didn't want to. She said she'd go get me an applesauce to finish instead. So she came back with a strawberry applesauce. I ate half of it and started to gather up my things to go to my next group. She said I had to finish the applesauce. I said I thought it would be okay since I finished half the apple and I was compensating by eating half of the applesauce. Well! Apparently this was not 'healthy' behavior, so she sat with me until I finished my applesauce! <<<<< (end anecdote)
So, I thought I hated Erica after that first day and called her a 'meal support Nazi.' But after the first week, I started really wanting more of her attention. No - craving her attention. I found that after our first appointment that I was just spilling out words to her, and I didn't think she would judge me. I was startled and excited by how open I could be with her. It was one thing to sit in an office with her, but another to have her in the kitchen, making sure we all ate our meals. I have a difficult time finishing meals that I don't want to eat, but I found that Erica sitting next to me, encouraging me and giving me attention was the most exciting thing to ever happen to me. Two nights ago, I was picking at my Alfredo pasta like it was covered in cat hair. She came over and tapped her finger on the crossword puzzle I was looking at to snap me out of my trance and gave me a look, and then knelt down next to me. I don't remember exactly what she said, but I felt like my heart was just melting, and her eyes were so compassionate and beautiful that I wanted her to take care of me forever. She said: "I don't want you to be sick anymore. You can do it." Something, something. I don't know. I finished my meal after that. Three other staff members were telling me the same thing, but the way Erica said it was so beautiful.
If I were to be completely honest with my feelings, I would say that I want Erica to pay attention to me. I want her to take care of me, I want her to hold my hand and show me the way. I want her to laugh with me and encourage me and think I am great and creative and unique. I want her to sit with me at meal-times. Although I absolutely HATE having to finish meals (because, just being real here, I DO have a twisted relationship with food), it's mixed in with the utter ecstasy of Erica having to take care of me. It's really confusing. Because I REALLY REALLY want Erica to pay attention to me, and to love me, but I can't get that from her when I'm completing all of my meals and not using behaviors. If I imagine telling her during an appointment that I didn't eat breakfast and threw up after lunch, (which is true most days) then her response of "what are we going to do, Meghan?" gets me weirdly excited. Like, she cares! She wants to work with me? Someone cares... My last session with her, she told me that she was 'really worried about me.' ANd my mind translated that as, she cares! She is thinking of me! She sees I am struggling! I'm not struggling on purpose I don't think. But what an added bonus to struggle and have someone care!
Plus, I think Erica is just beautiful. She's not like, maternal beautiful though. And see, I was thinking that maybe these emotional obsessions are because I am craving the mother that I never had as a child, but there is a weird sexual element wrapped up in all of this. Erica is like, absurdly skinny for being a dietitian, first of all. But I think she is so fucking perfect, and her voice is just divine, and looking into her eyes is like a reminder that angels do exist! I spend forever thinking of what to wear in the morning because I am trying to imagine it from Erica's point of view - how will she think I look in this? Will she think I look skinny and underfed like a malnourished child? Will she think I look like a boy in this? Will I be showing my 'feminine' side with this top? What will she think? Will it get her attention? And then I would imagine her coming on to me during one of our appointments... until I realized that would be incredibly unrealistic.
And it doesn't stop at Erica... I have a huge crush on my PHP group facilitator. Who is gorgeous, thin, and has sparkling eyes like the moon on water. I can't even concentrate in groups because she is in there. I purposely don't finish my snack so she will give me that AMAZING look which induces such ecstasy and excitement from inside of me! She notices! She cares! She is laughing at me, as if we are sharing a secret - that look that says 'you know you're not supposed to do that! But I love you anyway!'
It's indescribable! It's so utterly transcendent! How can I focus on recovering from my eating disorder when I've so distracted myself with so many women who seem to be genuinely concerned for my well-being! I'm afraid to not be sick because then they won't care about me.
I'm not sure what to call these... things. They aren't crushes. They are more like... intense emotional attachments not otherwise specified (not sexual, not even platonic). They are distracting, yes. But I feel like it is MORE than just being a way to distract myself from addressing my real issues. I feel as if there is meaning there; a pattern. It's more than just a coping tool because this has been a CONTINUAL pattern! And they all share something! I am CRAVING a certain something from a certain someone who occupies a certain role, and I want to figure out what it is so I can at least figure out to make my life function a little better for me!
....
After a few weeks passing, I have developed my feelings so they are a little bit clearer to me. These aren't sexual crushes I'm having. These are intense emotional attachments. I want their attention. I want to be a child and I want them to be my mother. That would be the ONLY way to get unconditional love and attention from them! I know that's the underlying feeling. Why do I feel such an aversion for my own mother's love and attention? I have a mother - why am I craving these other women? What's wrong with me? Why do I feel inherently disgusted by my own biological mother? Am I evil for wanting total attention from these women? I suppose if I were throwing temper tantrums during groups for attention, then I'd have something to worry about. But I'm not. I do love the attention I get when I absolutely need help, but I don't think I am going out of my way to make myself known. I would like to be mindful of these feelings I am having, but I am also aware there is a part of me that really doesn't want to relinquish the fantasy of having their undivided attention.
I like when they smile at me. I like when they laugh at me. The feeling makes me think that life has meaning.
Monday, August 15, 2011
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