Most women I know would kill to have a size 8 body, to be able to squeeze into skinny jeans, to have a flat stomach…
A friend posted a link on facebook along the lines of “It’s not acceptable to call someone fat, so why suspect I’m anorexic?”
And I can identify.
I’ve always been super slim. It doesn’t matter what I eat, I don’t put weight on. THIS DOES NOT MAKE ME LUCKY! It is HARD to keep body fat on. If I exercise, I know I have to find time to consume extra calories. People suspect I starve myself, or don’t eat. If I’m not hungry I feel like I’m being judged for my small portions.
That girl you just called skinny? Yeah, she’s now got a complex about eating.
This is what happened to me. They watched me eat through school. They watched me until I got panic attacks about it. Panic attacks I still have. I stopped eating when I was self harming, but only because the watchers showed me it was easy to control attention via food intake.
So, next time you think the skinny girl is “lucky” take a second before you mention her weight.
I’m paying for it.
I’m literally falling to pieces at the moment.
I can’t say I was suffering from depression (although my outlook is as bleak), or any other physical ailment (although I’m exhibiting symptoms of many ills.
So far this week, I’ve had a panic attack which caused three hours of sever nausea and OH’s mother to worry that there was something wrong with her cooking (I still feel bad about this), my OH has taken no end of me shouting at him because he’s still the sam and my tolerance for his “same-ness” is even less than normal, and then today I feel like I have been beaten round the head, taken a few punches to the face and had all my limbs broken.
Ok, I exaggerate, but I am struggling to keep my eyes open. Moving actually hurts. I do feel like someone has taken a vacuum and just sucked everything out of my head apart from a big red ball filled with all the things going wrong at the moment. In the process, they seemed to have removed my capacity to eat without feeling sick and to provide the rest of my body with the energy necessary to run around after two small children.
I have no idea how I will be coping this week.
I’ll start with regular doses of caffeine, painkillers and chocolate and see how I get on.
So, we’re back to this again are we?
I grew up having panic attacks where I would feel extreme nausea. Mostly when going out to eat (caused by a poor relationship with food) but also during exams, concerts, performances, classroom sessions at work..
I never wrote about it because I thought it was weird and freaky and that people would laugh at the skinny girl who didn’t want to eat, then poke fun at my strange food relationship and cause me a lot more distress!
I controlled the attacks pretty well. I would sit down to eat, will an attack on and then fight it off by eating little mouthfuls or scratching my hand or just talking. Then I would be fine, knowing I was in control.
When I fell pregnant with the Toddler, the attacks stopped completely. I ate. All the time. Everywhere. The freedom was exhilarating.
It lasted a short while afterwards then they returned and I retrained myself in controlling them.
Sadly, when I was pregnant with O I was ill with stomach bugs twice. And his feet were resting on my stomach for the majority of the 3rd trimester making me nauseous all the time. Instead of normalising the feeling to a background level, it has bought the attacks on worse. Now I worry when I feel sick that I won’t be able to control it because I’ve actually got a bug and I’m going to spend the next 12 hours with my head in the toilet bowl while simultaneously shitting myself. Lovely, I know.
On Wednesday we went to OH mums for dinner. I’d spent the last few days feeling dodgy – caused by the current stress of everything I’m guessing. I ate dinner. All of it. Drank tea…then for the next few hours felt sick and ended up with my head down the pan rubbing my belly. Hearing either of the kids cry made it worse. Thinking about the drive home made it worse. Thinking about bed time routines made it worse. OH ended up loading the kids in the car and driving them round the block in an attempt to get O to calm down…and knowing he wasn’t in the house made it worse…EVEN THOUGH HIS MOTHER SAW ME IN ACTIVE LABOUR!!!
Now I’m back to square 1. I think it might be time to go to the Drs.