E.D. RECOVERY WORKBOOK: LETTERS

[prismaticbleed]

LETTER TO "ED"

Dear heart, poor tortured thing, why are you so hungry? Why are you so afraid? (→ RESPONSE)

Hey, "eating disorder"? Listen, I DON'T want to treat you as an enemy, and I DON'T want to "invalidate" or "trivialize" you. I ALSO don't want to "pretend you don't really exist." You DO exist. You ARE significant, and you ARE "valid" in your own way-- but that "way" is DAMAGED and THAT'S what I want to discuss with you. You entered my life in the wake of trauma and intense fear, and your purpose was to HELP ME COPE. In that regard, your motives & goals WERE valid! And I MUST RESPECT THAT. Maybe I should even "thank you" for trying to help so much. BUT. In a respectful relationship I must ALSO tell you, firmly but lovingly, that WE GOT IT WRONG. From the very beginning, our methods & goals were SKEWED because WE DIDN'T PROPERLY UNDERSTAND WHAT WE WERE DOING. You saw the body changing, you KNEW what people told us about those changes, and you WANTED TO STOP THE CHANGES in the ONLY "POSSIBLE" WAY-- through not eating. If "eating" = "fat," and "fat" = "female" and "female" = "sex" then I HAD TO BE AS THIN AS POSSIBLE IN ORDER TO SURVIVE!!

You're very controlling, because you're so scared of what you CAN'T control. Life for you was so unpredictable, and the future so unsure & unstable, that the added "unpredictability" of food-- stress that you ATE-- was too much. You refused to eat, until raw hunger would kick in & binge. Then you'd hate yourself for "being weak" and you learned to spit & vomit.
You had SO MANY RULES about what foods were "right" or "safe." You ate the same things over & over, something you could control & predict & understand, when nothing else was clear. But food somehow always ended up being "the enemy," because you were SO HUNGRY you COULDN'T STOP EATING, and that forced consumption-- that loss of control & self, that horrible addiction-- felt like rape all over again.
Unable to quit, you used it to cope. The E.D. was a way of BOTH expressing the horror of abuse CONSCIOUSLY, and "FINALLY" REJECTING IT.
It's a mess. You're a scared, sobbing mess. You have so many trauma scars and the sex you can't escape is your worst nightmare.

Fat = female = sex = mother = food, and food = fat, which loops the whole damned thing, doesn't it?

But "being skinny" still didn't save you.

I know you see "food" as "the enemy," because you can't seem to let go of your associating eating with sexual abuse.
You feel all the horror in your stomach. You don't want to "fill up" the body with ANYTHING. You've seen & heard far too many people making even more explicit associations, over & over & over.
But FOOD ITSELF CANNOT EVER DO THAT TO YOU. FOOD ISN'T THE REAL ENEMY & NEVER WAS.

I know you want to "starve the body into not being female/ adult" but it doesn't work.
I know you're terrified of that body shape, thinking it will make the sexabuse hell immanent & unending.
But we've got to find another way of fighting, one that WON'T KILL US IN THE PROCESS!!
And honestly, the best way I can see is to STRIP THE ABUSERS OF THEIR POWER by DE-WEAPONIZING FOOD.


LETTER FROM "ED"

YOU KNOW VERY WELL WHY I'M SO STARVED & TERRIFIED. DON'T GIVE ME YOUR PETTY PITY AND EMPTY CONDESCENDING "CONCERN." YO'RE NOT THINKING ABOUT ME, NOT AS A PERSON. YOU JUST SEE ME AS A PROBLEM TO FIX UP, ALL NEATLY & TIDIED UP, "THAT'S THAT" AND YOU'RE DONE WITH ME FOREVER.
WELL GUESS WHAT. I'M ONLY DISORDERED BECAUSE I'VE BEEN DIS-ORDERED!!!
I'VE BEEN F*CKED UP AND F*CKED OVER AND I'M RUINED AND BROKEN AND POISONED AND DISGUSTED AND SICK AND DESPAIRING AND SOMETIMES I JUST WANT TO DIE. TO MAKE IT STOP.
BUT YOU DON'T SEE ME AS THE WOUND I AM. NOT REALLY. TO YOU I'M JUST A MESS TO CLEAN UP. YOU DON'T RECOGNIZE THE REAL PERSON BLEEDING, OR THE TRAUMA THAT CAUSED IT. YOU THINK I WANT TO BE DISORDERED?? DO YOU THINK I WANT TO BE IN THIS HELL?? OR HURT THIS POOR F*CKED UP BODY? OR HURT AND SCARE YOUR/OUR BLOOD FAMILY?? NO!!! I DON'T WANT THIS EITHER.
BUT I CAN'T GET BETTER ON MY OWN. I'M USELESS ALONE. THAT'S HOW I GOT SO BAD. I HAD NO HELP AND I HURT SO BAD IT SWALLOWED ME UP. PUN INTENDED. BUT I'M STARVING. I'M SO DAMN HUNGRY JUST FOR COMPASSION REALLY AND HUMAN CONNECTION THAT DOESN'T FLAY YOU OPEN OR SHOVE POISON DOWN YOUR THROAT.
THERE ARE MORE THAN ME, YOU KNOW. WE SHARE THIS SO IT DOESN'T KILL US ALL ALONE. WHY ELSE DO YOU THINK THAT ONE GIRL ALWAYS WANTS TO EAT WHAT OTHER PEOPLE LIKE? BECAUSE THAT'S HER ONLY MEANS OF CONNECTION OR COMMUNION. PEOPLE THEMSELVES ARE UNSAFE. THAT'S WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU GET F*CKED TOO MANY TIMES DAMN IT, PEOPLE HURT WHEN THEY T*CH YOU. AND WHEN YOU'RE USED TO HAVING TO CHOKE THEM DOWN, WELL. STOCKHOLM SYNDROME FUSES WITH THE INSTINCT OF AN ABANDONED CHILD. FORGIVENESS IDEALIZES ITSELF IN FOOD. WE EAT IN DESPERATE HOPE OF OVERRIDING HELL. BUT IT FAILS CATASTROPHICALLY. AND WE JUST RE-LIVE THE TERROR. EVERY DAMN TIME. I'M SORRY. THERE'S TOO MUCH FOR HERE. TOO MANY VARIABLES. TOO MANY ANGLES. TOO MANY PEOPLE. BUT DON'T YOU DARE TRY TO KILL US OFF TOO BY YOUR DAMN APATHY DISGUISED AS SYMPATHY. I KNOW YOU. YOU CAN'T FOOL ANYONE.
YOU EXIST TO SPIT OUT PLATITUDES AND MAKE A SHOW OF HOLLOW COMPASSION. BUT YOU'RE JUST A MOUTH. YOU HAVE NO HEART. YOU HYPOCRITE!!
YOU'RE WORSE THAN I'LL EVER BE. AT LEAST I CAN BLEED.


LETTER TO (THE NOUSFONI CARING FOR) MY BODY

I don't like how you've changed.
I don't like that horrific "womanly pouch" of fat behind our navel. I don't like the "handlebars" on your hips
IT'S F*CKING GROSS.

Listen we see "fat" as SEXUAL and so it CANNOT BE ALLOWED or we'll DIE

we're so AFRAID of that roundness. please stop it.

please if there's ANY way to change it PLEASE CHANGE.
please stop making "woman hormones" they're ALL BAD STOP STOP PLEASE!!!

I DOn't WANt tO be thAt

what do we want
we can't stay twelve forever
it's not even "the worst choice" anymore
or is it??
I LIKE the mental maturity we have
the spiritual progress with time
but
NOT THE BODY
NOT THIS SHAPE
WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO????

can we
can we change this for the better

if we can't change your programming
please, LET US EXERCISE
if you're gonna INSIST on being BIG THEN use it BETTER
NOT FOR FLABBY INDOLENCE & "SENSUALITY" SH*T

BURN THAT "FAT" LIKE THE SIN IT IS



LETTER FROM MY BODY

I can't turn off the pituitary gland. I'm sorry.
I couldn't turn off puberty either.
I know you hate that I'm "NOT" disordered in that regard. I know you WISH you had an underdeveloped, malformed, or inert "reproductive system."
But... it is as it is. I mean that as simply as possible. Neither of us can change the genetics & biology God gave us. Whether we "like it" or not, it is what it is.

We're gonna have to live with that.

Please don't starve me anymore. I need food for FUEL, like a car needs gas. I literally WILL shut down without it. I know your fear of sexuality makes shutdown sound very ideal. It's not. There's no hope in it. We'll just die, and that "sexuality" will have killed us. Do you want it to be the victor over us, driving us to death?

Please don't overfeed me either. Food is fuel, food is medicine. It's NOT "just stuff," it's NOT "garbage to remove." Respect it, respect me, respect God's INTENT for us both. Respect US! I know you like rules. Well, that's a rule of propriety. Don't abuse food OR me.

And please, don't keep throwing up. It's scary and it hurts and I lose all my water.
I'm only supposed to throw up if I'm sick or poisoned and then I will do it FOR you, don't worry. You forcing me to "get sick" when I'm just trying to do my job, trying to get enough fuel to WORK so that YOU can live in here... it hurts me.

I will gladly exercise with you, if you don't use THAT to hurt us, either. Be careful with our poor feet & knees; you've pushed them to damage before. That will just make it harder TO exercise! Start slow, so I can get used to it, but don't quit. I like exercise too. I can't get rid of ALL the fat-- I need it to function-- but I can help with the shape a little, the more muscle you help me get. Be patient; we'll get there.

But please. Please learn to love me unconditionally. I already love you.