Clandestine Confessions

It happened bit by bit but yet seemingly everything all at once.
Sitting in that chair in the doctor’s office that December in 2002 being told a hospital stay was imminent if I did not gain weight.
“There is a place you can go for people like you to get additional help.”
People like me…
It was the first mention of others.
The first time I learned I wasn’t alone in this.
To what extent I did not yet know.
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As she was speaking, I kept wondering how in the world I got here.
Where did it all go wrong…?
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The J who was the comedian of the family, the source of some of the most iconic moments in the Laird history, visible no more.
Laughter few and far between – no longer able to create it nor emit it.
Happiness a foreign land after living in pain.
And one of which I did not deserve to dwell.
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The J with a mind once used to design a fictional town in her basement where she would “shop” with her sister – Shaffeytown was the name.
That created a game show using trivia cards and giant bean bags to play with her siblings – aptly titled “The Chocolate Cream Pie Show” because the winner got to jump in the pie (the bean bags).
That played for hours on end with dolls and stuffed animals – giving them all names and voices and spectacular lives to live.
That mind now a torture chamber…
Using that creativity against itself to project an image of my body that did not exist.
Leaving me petrified of my own reflection – avoiding mirrors and photos at all cost.
Convincing me the world was out to sabotage me, paranoid every single person – waiter, friend, family, teacher – was out to steal the disorder from me and ruin my “progress”.
Trapping me in tormenting thoughts – obsessively playing on loop 24/7.
Building my dreams at night, constructing my future, molding my identity.
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The J obsessed with all things peanut butter – always requesting Santa give her the most Reese’s trees out of all the siblings.
Who got giddy over buying fudge on vacation.
Who loved Lunchables and Friendly’s Fribbles and Ellio’s Pizza.
Now frightened to even be in the same proximity as food – seeing even being in contact with certain foods as fatal.
Immediately washing my hands for no less than five minutes, afraid the remnants would linger and end up in my mouth, if I touched a “forbidden” food.
Which was all but five…
And if the nightmare dare happened, I would feverishly spit it out and wipe out my mouth with a paper towel.
Not allowing myself to swallow until I could brush my teeth afraid it would work its way to my stomach.
Food now no longer a source of enjoyment but punishment.
Living in a body craving to be fed but a mind refusing to allow me to admit I needed it.
Obsessively weighing, measuring and counting every piece of food that passed my lips.
Neurotically reading nutrition labels, documenting every calorie, spending hours researching food and how it was made.
Salivating watching commercials.
Roaming the aisles of grocery stores imagining how everything tasted, planning binges to satisfy the emptiness.
Allowing it all so that I could escape reality – food a distraction from the internal storm brewing within.
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The J once so full of joy now living perpetually terrified.
Of life, of change, of my body, of growing older, of the future, of the unknown, of emotions, of myself.
Petrified to be touched yet craving the warmth of a human soul.
Scared to be broken but frightened to feel whole.
Aching to feel safe in an unpredictable, dangerous, judgmental world – so much so that I was willing to curate a whole new world for myself in pain and fear where I could not be found.
Tearing me away from what is real to a place where lies are truth and right is wrong.
Using my body as a means to maintain control.
Afraid to be seen but all actions pointing to a desire in my soul for someone to notice me.
Hiding under layers of clothing so that no one saw my shrinking body.
So nobody could see the weight of the suffering I carried…
The fear of being more paralyzed me into complacency – my body pushed past the point of functioning.
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The J who dreamt big and believed boldly about who she could be, what her life could become.
A teacher who marries Brian Littrell in the most extravagant wedding and lives in a six bedroom home and travels the world.
My striving for what is impossible now shifting to a new venture.
A war within that never would end because what I was after did not exist: being “enough”.
Dictated by the thoughts that constantly told me “I am not good enough, thin enough, strong enough, pretty enough, worthy enough.”
“A little more and then I can stop.”
But there was always a little more.
And it did not stop.
No matter how low I went.
Completely absorbed in my attempt at perfection that I lost all sense of reality.
Needing so much yet wanting to not need anything at all.
Feeling I was too much yet like I was nothing at all.
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The J abundantly alive now begging to die.
Seeing death as the only way out.
It seemed like the less frightening choice.
I knew I could not live forever with an eating disorder but believed I could not live without it either.
The darkness felt like my reprieve.
While also my demise.
And its purpose as the latter would reign supreme in the decade to come…