Clandestine Confessions

“Thank you for knowing to never let yourself go.”

That “compliment” was my alarm clock this morning. Loudly, obnoxiously, painfully jolting me out of my half-asleep state.

It has been five and a half years since it was last spoken to me.

Yet today, for reasons I am trying to sort through, it wanted to make an appearance in my life.

The words played on loop. My mind a broken record player.

And with each repetition, I could feel my body expanding. My skin becoming increasingly more painful to live in. My thoughts demanding we take action today to hide away, shrink back, punish the body that was the object of another’s affection…

Hold on, that seems too peaceful of a word.

Lust.

Let’s call it what it is given the reason why he said it.

It “kept me attractive” to him and “prevented him from needing to look at other women.”

I am using quotes very intentionally here; to convey these were not perceptions I created or thoughts of his I imagined on my own. While that can be a side effect of trauma, that was not the case in this scenario.

These were actual words that came out of his mouth.

And words that gave me all the evidence I needed. Not to run in the opposite direction as far as I could but…to enhance the prominence of the anorexia.

In order to keep his addiction quiet (in his own mind and to the world), I made mine loud.

And no, this sacrifice did not make me noble or morally superior or selfless.

It robbed me of life.

While he peacefully lived his.

It cost me nearly everything.

Ever so conveniently, it turned me into the scapegoat, placing all blame on me as to why we did not work out. It would become the predominant reason why his family did all they could to tear me down and contribute to why I would need to become a clandestine presence in his life.

•

“Perks to having a girlfriend with an eating disorder,” I said sarcastically under my breath one of the final times I was in his presence.

My frustration robbed me of the filter I had become accustomed to using in conversation.

To be the perfect girlfriend.

The one worthy to be a wife.

The one deserving to be chosen.

Saddest part of it all is that he was well aware of that outcome.

He watched me cry into a salad overcome with fear. He fed me his compliment on my choices regarding my body while I sat there frozen feeling incapable of feeding my own self.

One could easily say I was the culprit to my own demise. That I chose to suffer in silence because I did not “speak” anything. That I brought this on myself by not addressing the battle.

However, nothing about the tears, my actions, and my demeanor were quiet. Behavior is a language.

And I was screaming.

But it fell on deaf ears. His desires resulting in deafness.

•

There was another person who would tell me “You are fine the way you are but could be more desirable if (insert way I could alter my body). You have potential.”

I would bite my tongue to keep the peace, not wanting to awaken the anger in him. But what I really wanted to say was “and you have potential to be a kind boyfriend but here we are. It seems neither of us are living up to who we could be.”

•

And we most certainly cannot neglect to mention the most prominent display of body preoccupation of them all. The one that transpired at eight years old.

When I was offered a deal by my parents that I could earn a rabbit by losing ten pounds.

•

There is a theme that has played out in my life (in MANY more occurrences than just those listed): love is connected to my body. The size of it. The perfection of it. The societal desirability of it.

I can receive attention and affection by changing my appearance.

In periods of loneliness, the thought arises… “perhaps if I looked different, someone would want to be a part of this life.”

And so, I’ll minimize the space I take up.

And I’ll manipulate my frame.

And I’ll punish myself internally into a new outward expression.

And I’ll shout with this body for someone to see me, love me, want me.

•

I have admittedly refused to relinquish my grip on certain behaviors out of fear if I do not maintain control over this body (even if a mere iota of it) that I will never be coveted by another’s heart.

To be chosen by any human with a pulse has taken precedence over committing to full surrender of a life unhindered by the disorder.

And that is a sobering truth I need to own and work through.

•

Part of that healing process will require me to ask myself a perspective shifting series of questions.

How deep would that “love” even be…

• If based off of only a version of me I had to abuse myself to become?
• If dependent on an appearance that will inevitably take new forms throughout the years of being privileged to exist on this earth?
• If I have to live in constant fear of being abandoned once their eyes consider me unworthy of their attention?
• If I never have emotional stability knowing at any moment I can be deemed unwanted and replaced by someone “better”?
• If I am petrified to live in my own skin and look at my reflection because of the awareness I could spot an imperfection that would risk my acceptance?

Would I rather have a superficial experience of love or…no love at all?

I shall venture to say the latter would do less damage to the heart, mind, and body; a theory I speak having previously lived in two long term relationships of conditional adoration.

•

The hopeful romantic in me has boldly proclaimed love is worth dying for, which I do and always will stand by.

However, I can no longer support my mind’s version of that belief. For it hijacked the declaration into a suicide mission.

The real death will come from handing over the disorder in its entirety, dying to my fear driven choices and decades long pursuit to be anyone but my own self.

The real death is the one that will bring me to life.

Restore the color to my world, revive the bliss to my soul, and return the hope to my tomorrows.

And I must believe the one handpicked by heaven for me will make that the easiest decision of my life.

And will walk graciously alongside me as I depart from the only sanctuary I can remember in this lifetime.

So that one day I can hand over that title to him…