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It Ain't Easy Bein' Green

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Green is not my best color, yet I seem to be willing to wear it regularly. Jealousy does NOT become me. I have a friend - I'll call him Eric - whose behavior toward me has changed, and not for the better. Suddenly when we're in public, he's yakking with the "cool" girls and barely acknowledges anything I say. In private he'll talk with me about things, but when the others are around, he courts their attention and ignores me. Oh, he'll make a brief comment if I address him, but beyond that I might as well not exist.

It makes me really ache inside. I do not deserve to be treated this way, and I know that I have done nothing to warrant any kind of poor treatment from him. I have never spoken ill of him or said anything unkind to or about him. Not once. It hurts because he's supposed to be my friend.

If I say anything to him, I'll get pegged as jealous and needy, and right now I could not stand that. I'm extremely angry because I feel like my hands are tied and I don't know how to rectify the situation to my own satisfaction. At this point, I almost don't care if I hurt his feelings - that's how hurt I am.

Why do I allow other people's treatment of me to color how I view and treat myself? I won't stand up and say anything because I'm afraid of looking petty and insecure. And of course there's the chance that he's not even aware of what he's doing.

In the meantime, I'll be trying to rescind the green eyes from the monster and put them back in my own head where they belong.

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Fathers and Other Hit Men

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A friend watched a movie on Lifetime last night that made her think of me: Queen Sized. "It was about an overweight high school girl and they portrayed her negative thoughts as her mother. When her mother would say something that sounded innocent enough, the thought-mother would reword it to be hurtful and when the girl was alone, the thought mother would come and express all these negative opinions and then the girl would go on a binge. Despite the depressing sound of it, it was a really cute teen movie and of course, in the end, she is elected Homecoming Queen and all the nobody kids look up to her while all the mean girls still hate her and she gets a boyfriend too. I think."

DANGIT!! I'd meant to tape that one. I'd seen it advertised. Well, shoot.

Anywho, BOY is that me. Only difference is that the things come from both my parents. My dad was more image-conscious than he was comfortable being. He was saddled with two daughters with weight issues twenty years apart. Kay* and I rarely talk about it, and she's FAR less heavy than I am, but I know from my mother that one time he introduced her to a colleague as, "This is my fat daughter Kay." W T F ? ! ? ! ? ! WHO DOES something like that?! I could really never reconcile that person with the father who was normally such an extremely sensitive, kind and tremendously well-reasoned and compassionate man.

He had one on me, too, once. Probably the single most painful moment of my life. Christmas - I'm in my 20s somewhere. We're opening presents and I get a really nice new pants and blouse set from my folks. My dad has a "haha" look on his face, and asks mischievously - "Does it come with a pole?" I am mystified. I really, really, really don't get it - and neither does my mom. My sister and BIL are not forthcoming, although I think Kay gets it.

Finally, at dinner, I tell them I give up - I have NO idea what it means. My father doesn't answer (I think, perhaps he's ashamed of himself by this time). Kay finally responds sheepishly - and I know she's sorry about it. She says, "A tent pole."

I have never so much in my life wished that the ground would open and swallow me whole as at that moment. I have also never wanted to physically harm or humiliate my father as I did then. I wanted to pick up my dinner plate and smash it straight in his face - just grind it in. I actually had to mentally restrain myself from it.

What do I do instead? I laugh. God help me, I laughed so no one would know the damage I felt inside. At that moment, and for the only time I can recall, I hated my father.

And I can't say that "It's all good," or anything because when I finally confronted him years later, the bastard didn't remember it at all. He had the NERVE to forget it.

I am still trying to forgive him for that.

*Not her real name.

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Life without Ed

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Ed doesn't live in my house any more. His bags are packed and sitting on the front porch. I've had a team of security experts evaluate my home for safety, change the existing locks, add deadbolts, glass breakers, alarms and cameras. My home is better protected than Fort Knox! Plus, the contents are much more valuable.

The biggest problem, I suppose, is that I keep listening when Ed talks. He has such a big mouth. He tells me whatever he needs to say to get me to do what he wants. Ed is really nothing more than a manipulative, self-centered abuser and I'm thrilled that he's out of my house.

Sometimes he hollers so loudly and smacks the door so hard I have to shove couches and other heavy furniture in front of the door to keep him out. Sometimes he whispers apologetic sweet talk in at the window. And sometimes I'm so lonely I convince myself that I just don't care that he's going to be abusive - I rationalize it by saying, "Well, at least he's there!"

Except that nothing changes the fact that he will be abusive and manipulative every single time. There are no exceptions with Ed. The eating disorder tells me that I can eat whatever I want just like the skinny chick next to me. He tells me that I will be able to stop this time, regardless of the fact that I have not been able to stop the last 4,387 times I have tried this. He tells me I am weak when I have to protect myself; yet in the same breath he tells me I'm strong enough to eat only one potato chip.

Do you see the paradox here? He tells me what he thinks will make me do what he wants me to do. And what he wants me to do is eat. Uncontrollably.

And he lies. Oh, how he lies. He tells me all the time how ugly I am; how nobody really likes me - they merely tolerate me out of politeness; how stupid or weak or selfish or useless I am. He points out every shortcoming and every failure or perceived failure. The perfectionist in me (which usually goes right along with the eating disorder) just sits back and nods her head. What a traitor! It's so difficult to refute these evil statements no matter how wrong they are, but it's vitally important to learn to do that, one moment at a time.

The answers are not simple. There are as many options for recovery as there are eating disordered individuals out there, both men and women. I journal when I feel the need to eat outside of my prescribed normalized meal plan. Or I find an activity I can do. Granted, this can feed the obsessive-compulsive fetish, but I prefer that to the alternative.

One of the most important activities in which I can engage is connecting with other people, most particularly my support system. I can pick up the phone when I'm feeling food-related anxiety or an urge to binge, go hang out with my friends wherever they may be or even pick up a pen and write a letter. Anything to stay in contact with the people who love me. This is most usually linked to the craving that I'm experiencing, so it's a healthy outlet for me to meet my needs.

And I can take my message to the world - that's you, my friend. Please learn something from me and don't follow in my footsteps. Besides, they're not my footprints right now because Jesus is carrying me through this recovery process.

I wish you all God's blessings in your recovery.