As mentioned earlier, lately I have been having some reoccurring bouts of hurt and anger, issues that I’ve never been well equipped to properly deal with, hence my almost decade long history of eating disorders and other self-destructive behaviors often accompanied with long periods of depression and apathy. They say that eating disorders are not just about food and weight and body image, but much greater underlying issues. The behavior itself is merely a coping mechanism to deal with these issues. When treating eating disorders, therapy is almost always recommended, so that these underlying issues are revealed, addressed and either eliminated or offered healthier coping mechanisms to deal with. Sometimes together with antidepressants and anxiety medication. Sometimes without.
I recovered from my eating disorder without therapy. In fact, I did it on my own, without any medical intervention. Whether I did it the right way or the wrong way, whether I would get the same, if not better and faster results had I received proper treatment, remains subject for speculations. The fact is I am recovered. As far as eating disorder is concerned, I no longer have it, i.e. I no longer turn to food when trying to deal with whatever it is that’s bothering me, and food, although being an essential part of my life, is no more or less than what it should be - a means to meet my bodily needs so that I can further function. Some of the accompanying issues, such as weight, looks, body image and certain insecurities disappeared as I recovered. And yet, other issues remain, those that are no longer classified under “eating disorder” and are more from the department of personality fucked-upness.
The truth is, I addressed the eating disorder and the recovery from the other end. Therapy aims to eliminate the issues, so that there is nothing to cope with, hence no need for disordered behavior. I eliminated the behavior itself. Just like that. One day, already sort of half- heartedly in recovery, after a very unfortunate incident and having realized just how fucked up exactly I was, I simply decided that all I wanted was to be normal. And by saying normal I first and foremost wanted to me a normally functioning human being. One that does not see food as a source of comfort, or fear or loathing or a way to release frustration and pain and anger, but only as basic, most primitive means to survival. Normal in a way that food is perceived not as pleasure or a means to soothe pain, but as essential nutrients that the body relies on to have its organs work and processes carried out. Normal in terms of not having to pass out sporadically every now and then because of low blood sugar and slow heart rate. Normal in terms of perceiving hunger signals as the body’s way of saying that it’s time to refuel instead of panicking and freaking out. Normal in terms of being able to menstruate regularly. Normal to be able to have children one day, even if that day appears far far away.
So I got that part straightened out. Rewired the whole food perception thing and hunger/satiety impulses. Recovered the chemical balance of hormones and whatever else it is that keeps the body running. Relearned to eat all over again, as if I were a toddler, newly introduced to solid food. It wasn’t easy. By no means I want to imply that it was easy. But I did try to make it as easy as I possibly could, and one way of doing it was to separate the physical and physiological aspect of recovery from emotional part. In fact, I had to completely shut out the latter, so that I had to deal only with one thing at a time. Actually I was so successful in separating these two aspects, that for a while, nothing mattered more than just getting into a habit of eating. No emotion would get in the way of my having to have my breakfast on time. No emotion actually mattered, except for the feeling of satisfaction, the happy feeling of satiety, the fact that I survived yet another carefully planned, proportioned and balanced meal. I can’t say exactly how long it took to come to that point, but I did come to a point where “normal eating” became a habit and food no longer had to do with anything emotional.
I remember though, at some point in recovery, when I was doing relatively well and was already well into this habit of “eating” I had to stop myself and ask myself: what exactly is it that I was trying to recover from? Is it merely an eating disorder? Is it my insecurities, low self-esteem and the notion that I’m never good enough? Is this eating disorder merely a coping mechanism, and if it is, what exactly am I trying to cope with? And if so, what happens after I no longer have the familiar, at times comforting habit of relying on eating disorder when dealing with all these issues that got me sick in the first place?
Really, what happens when you no longer have the familiar ways of dealing with some of the emotional, more challenging issues?
The disordered behavior stopped a while ago, the issues, or at least some of them, are still out there. In fact, they’re so out there, that they seem to be all over the place these days. When I had an eating disorder, I could tuck them away, keep them out of everybody’s sight, and hide them so well that even I couldn’t see them. And now that I no longer have the habitual mechanism, I do not know what to do with myself, and how to keep some of these unpleasant issues at bay. And lately, despite my seemingly good mood and overall cheerfulness, some of these issues have been really all over the place.
So here’s the issue at hand - I do not know how to deal with anger. There, I said it. It’s out there, staring at my face. For a very long time I would repress it for as long as I possibly could and would try to cope with it the only way I knew how to – starving, overeating, purging. It worked. For a very long time it worked. Back then I had control over my eating disorder. I had something I could hold on to. As I got sicker, I started losing control over the decease, and instead, it started controlling me. I also lost control over my anger, which still unaddressed and unvoiced, managed to escape in spurts of most graceless and unbecoming rage – violent rage that on several occasions resulted in screaming (I am otherwise a very quiet and soft-spoken person), slamming doors, breaking dishes and either locking myself or wandering away for hours. I have seen in the past how destructive I can get when I am enraged, how completely annihilating, spiteful, cruel and merciless I can be, and since most of the time this anger was caused by someone who loved me, I was most cruel and merciless towards him. In a way I am afraid of that part of me and can only pray that it never, ever comes up to the surface and shows its ugly face again. But at the same time, it’s been a while since I have experienced anything as powerful as these episodes of rage. Not in the last couple of years, at least. I could only assume that such violent bouts of rage were caused by some kind of chemical imbalance and the situation itself called for it; whereas right now I’m more stable “chemically” and in a situation that excludes anything as extreme as rage…
I do get angry still. And even if I don’t scream and shout, it still comes out to the surface. In a different form, but it does. The problem is, I don't know how to get angry. Visibly angry. The old habit is to either completely repress the anger or readdress is, so that instead of being angry at whoever it is I should be angry at, I end up being angry at myself. It is a very deeply engraved habit – this redirecting of anger inward, instead of outward. And it has very, very debilitation consequences. Hurt and anger make me feel helpless and vulnerable. My first reaction to both is to distance myself, shut completely off and disappear, so that nobody sees just how hurt I am, so that nobody notices that I am actually angry. I am very sensitive, and despite the ability to pull of that “I’m tough enough to be that bad ass bitch who would stab you from behind”, I get hurt easily. Without really showing it. Anger and hurt also make me spiteful. Ridiculously spiteful. In a calm, calculating, deliberate way. In a way that I am well aware that I’m being spiteful. And want to continue being spiteful.
So lately I have been feeling hurt and angry and spiteful on more than one occasion. Won’t go into boring details, suffice to say that whatever it was that got me upset was big enough to make me angry. And once again, because I still do not seem to be able to simply say “Don’t do that”, “Stop”, “I’m angry”, “You’re hurting me”, I remained silent and had to deal with these emotions alone. And here’s what I discovered - apart from the feeling of helplessness and vulnerability on one hand, and consequent spite on the other hand, anger, repressed anger that is, affects me directly, in a distinct physical way – pain, shooting pain in the abdomen, that goes away as soon as I’ve calmed down and the incident has somehow resolved itself. Although I’m way too preoccupied these days to further research this, I remember reading about something similar to this, not in a medial study or scientific journal, but in one of the most brilliantly written pieces of fiction by Doris Lessing, “The Golden Notebook.” She does not speak of anger directly, but she writes about pain, emotional pain, that expresses itself through physical pain that is felt in a tight and throbbing spot right below the diaphragm, where the muscles intersect. The way the stomach muscles clench and contract in the feeling of apprehension when encountered by unpleasant situations and emotions. I remember how this sunk in, when I first read it. I remember thinking how hurt exactly one has to be to have emotional discomfort express itself through physical pain. Maybe right now I’m taking it way too literally, and maybe it’s just a trick of imagination, but I did notice that I become physically ill when angry, hurt and spiteful. And that it the last thing I rather deal with in my otherwise unclouded everydayness.
To address the issue at hand, I should simply ask myself why exactly it is that I cannot voice anger. Why is it so hard to admit that I am hurt? Why can I not let someone other than myself know that they’re hurting me, especially when they have no clue that that’s what they’re doing?
I think I’m still operating under a false belief that showing emotion, showing pain is a sign of weakness, makes me vulnerable. Being hurt and angry makes me feel helpless, and makes me want to distance myself, shut myself off and disappear. Spite that comes in response to this anger is merely a defense mechanism. A way to protect myself and shield my vulnerability.
Another false belief – most of the time I don’t voice anger because somehow I believe that whatever it is that’s bothering me is not important enough, is irrelevant, petty, petty enough to be ignored, and yet strong enough to give me ulcerous pains. So for the sake of keeping certain appearances I remain quiet. Cool and understanding. As long as I’m not seen as “that girl with those issues.” And in return I get… stomach ache.
And lastly, the source of my recent anger was someone I am very close with. Relationship, which, like any other, however wonderful and idyllic, has its challenging moments. And despite the fact that I do not want to discuss the relationship here (not in this post at least), I have to admit that there is an awful lot of fear, and uncertainty and insecurity involved in it, being the relationship “idiot” that I am. Maybe I am merely avoiding confrontation, or perhaps I’m secretly trying to protect him from my own anger. Maybe I am just plain afraid that if I voice each and every frustration that I have, instead of letting things slide, I will create further complications and simply drive him away. That if I keep wanting to have my things too much my way, I will end up losing everything entirely. That if I show just how much this “seemingly petty stuff” affects me, I will alienate him and end up being rejected.
Reread the last paragraph. Pretty pathetic, I have to admit. But then, upset digestion is no less pathetic. The fact that I can’t deal with anger is no less pathetic. I do, for the most part, let a lot of things slide. There are a lot more things that leave me unaffected than those that don't. But some stuff, however petty, I simply can’t let slide. And I can’t sit with anger, hoping that it goes away. Does it mean that I have to rewire myself, gather up the courage and simply say that “You know, there must be a more creative way to spend a weekend.” Petty? Maybe. But since my greatest source of joy and happiness these days comes from everyday little things, lost weekends provide enough ground for me to get upset. And angry. For days. Whereas it might just as well have been successfully avoided or at least properly addressed. I'm yet to find out. For now, I am still to learn that if it is something that got me upset, then it must not be all that petty after all.
