Courage

I don't know the first time I felt unbeautiful/ The day I chose not to eat/ What I do know is how I changed my life forever/ I know I should know better.

So this one's kinda hard. I've been hiding it for so long, with only a handful of people knowing about how hard I struggle. And they don't even know how much I'm still fighting. I know I said Gaston #1 was next, but he's being put on the back burner (where he belongs, in a nice, hot pot) for now. This has been on my mind for so much longer. Before I even decided to do this. The words have always seemed to falter, but I have to get it out. Dwelling on this has been doing more harm than good to my fragile psyche.

I have an eating disorder. I've had it since I was a teenager. I can't pinpoint the day I decided it was a good idea. I know the reason, tho. I didn't fit into that cookie cutter mold and my body was the issue. How could I control how my body looked? By controlling what I put in it.

In high school I cut down my eating to one meal a day, dinner. That way I could hide it from my family. School and friends were easy.

I'm not hungry

I was snacking last period.

I had a big breakfast.

You go ahead, I'll be in the library.

I forgot.

I got really good at coming up with excuses. But when I got that worrying glance, I'd nibble a little to stop it.

I was loosing weight and people were noticing. Complimenting how great I looked. I never saw it. I saw the flab that was still there. That only meant one thing. Time to cut back how much I was eating at dinner.

I wasn't OCD enough to keep track of the weight of things. I never intentionally threw up. I just stopped eating and willed my body to not get hungry. It worked. I still don't really feel hungry. I just know I need to eat.

The benefits to not eating were great. I was dropping pounds like crazy and I had my period down to two days a month. The bad stuff I just ignored. I'm good at ignoring. I was getting what I wanted, my body be damned. The fact that I was constantly tired or dizzy or blacking out didn't matter. I was loosing weight and people liked it.

In collage I cut my eating to practically nothing.  I was down to snacking when the dizzy spells got really bad. The only time I would eat an actual meal was when my roommate wanted to get back at her parents and would take me out to the most expensive restaurants. And, for a semester, I had breakfast with my lab partners.

I never gained the freshman 15. I lost the freshman 30-50. And I would have kept it up if one of my friends hadn't noticed what I was doing. In all honesty, she prolly saved my life.

Every time she saw me, she asked when I ate last. And then promptly shoved food in my direction. A lot of food. And she wouldn't stop watching me until I ate all of it. That was the first time someone had a negative reaction to what I was doing to my body. And it slowly started to change how I saw myself. Very slowly. But I still decided than that I needed to stop. Before it got to the point where I couldn't.

I hadn't reached the point of no return, yet. But I was close. I don't know the damage I physically did to myself. I never went to a doctor for it. I was, am, ashamed I reached that low.

However, I do know the mental damage I did to myself. I struggle with it every day. Now I have to force myself to eat. I'm on a schedule, thanks to work, and I have to force myself to stick to it.

There are days when I'm okay/ And for a moment, for a moment I find hope/ But there are days when I'm not okay/ And I need your help/ So I'm letting go.

I have a lot of good days. Okay, they're mostly good days. But good days can suddenly turn very, very bad. And those days scare me. Those days make me question if stopping was the better deal. It's so easy to skip a meal. One meal turns into two. And then I'm back to small snacks to keep the questions away. It scares me how easy it is to revert back to not eating. All because of harmless words that cut like a knife.

You've put on more weight.

You should go up a size.

You could stand to loose some pounds.

You should join my group. It's about loosing weight and keeping it off.

Is she pregnant?

I always knew that I wouldn't fix this part of me. I would always have to fight every day just to eat normally. I just never expected to find myself considering it again. I thought I had at least gotten over that. I guess I was wrong.

I don't want to go back to the dizzy spells or the blackouts. But the compliments. Is it worth it just to get the compliments back? To have people not be negative about my weight. Is it worth it to get them to stop?

This runs thru my head every single bad day. And it's been running thru my head a lot lately. And it scares me. It scares me how easy it would be to stop. I could hide it again. That was the easy part. No one questions "I'm not hungry" and "I already ate". It's not like I have to fight thru the hunger pains this time.

I'm still fighting. I'm still making myself eat. I still try to ignore that voice in my head. Ignore the offhand, negative comments. But each bad day breaks the dam a little more. Eventually my band-aids aren't going to hold the cracks together. And that day, the hell day, scares me to death.

I Want Sex and Candy

"Virgin: noun, a person who has never had sexual intercourse."

 I know I said I'd write about Gaston #1, but this needs to come first. He's a major part of it, but there's more to it than him.

So here's the shocker: I'm a virgin. Well, okay, not by the modern definition up there. That didn't last after 19. But the classical definition still holds true to me. Which I'm okay with. And it is funny being able to say I fit at least part of the word.

Classical definition (or interpretation from history): strong woman, independent, not owned by a man (i.e. married)

I like to think I fit at least part of that. I'm not married. I don't think having a boyfriend is the only thing that defines me. Oh, and another thing that's not in the definition, but in the history of the word: I have no kids.

Sex wasn't this huge snafu in ancient times like it is now. And therein lies some of my problems. Sex was taboo growing up. Anything dealing with sex wasn't mentioned. It was better for me to be scared of what was between people's legs than understand it. Including my own.

I learned about sex from soft-core porn on Starz. Mainly because every time I asked what was going on with my puberty-driven body, I was told I was too young to understand. I stopped asking.

I learned what I could from porn and books, but I was still terrified of what was actually going on with my body. It was wrong to want to do these things. Sex was wrong and horrible and you were less of a person if you did it before marriage. You, as a woman, were worth less because you were defiled. Sex was bad. Not this wonderful merging of souls.

I spent my teenage years being scared and curious and terrified of my curiosity.  Then I went to collage. I was out of the house and living in the dorms. And my dormmate introduced me to one of her "flavors", for lack of a better term. She was very much a classic virgin. She even hid her pregnancy the whole time we lived together. But I digress. She introduced me to Gaston #1.

I was naive and unprepared for the sexual world. I'd like to say I would do things differently if I actually knew about how things worked. I hope I wouldn't have let him control me because I was addicted to that wonderful feeling and didn't understand why.

Me and my curious brain lasted a whole 2 months before giving it up that first time. Thinking back, that might be the longest.

They say your first time is the worst. Yeah, I can see that. They tell you the pain only lasts a little bit. He mad sure I had no pain (about the only good thing about him). They say the orgasm is like nothing you've ever experience. I didn't orgasm. They say you'll always remember it. Yes, I do. But not for how amazing it was. I remember it because my first time was unusual. My first time was anal.

Sex was never special with him. Or the next Gaston. The third Gaston tried, but I was too jaded by then. Sex became a chore. And I realized they were right. Sex was this horrible monstrosity that defiled me.

I don't feel like that anymore, but it took a while. And a few guys. I don't have a big number. But it's enough. I've only been with 9 people. A few of those experiences I'm not too fond of. Most of them I cherish. All of them I learned from. I learned what I was always too young to know. I learned not to be scared of what's between someone's legs. It leads to a wonderful mixture of souls that is far from a horribly evil sensation. I've learned to not let sex define me.

I enjoy sex. This does not make me defiled. Or a slut. Or a whore. Or horrible. Or careless. Or out of control. Or any of those horrible things people say about sexual women (or men).

I'm not ashamed of who I've become sexually. Nor should I ever be forced to be. Yes, I regret some of the things I let happen to me. But I'm not ashamed of who those situations created.

Sex should never be something to fear. Nor should little girls ever be thought such. When you take this route, you're teaching that little girl to hate her body and her self. You are creating a problem, not helping a situation.

Sexual shame is something that happens way too often. And more times than not, it's that naive, little girl who has to fight, unarmed, against it.

I'm not afraid of my truth

I've come to the realization that I can't change how I feel about myself if I'm constantly hiding myself from people. How can I learn to like myself if I can't be myself? So I'm forcing myself to be vulnerable. No more hiding, no matter how scared I am. I fully expect to lose friends over some things. My family will see me thru a different light, but hopefully that's okay. It's going to take me a while. I'm still scared of putting some things out there. but, in time, I'll find myself and no longer let fear lead my life. No more hiding for me.

I plan to cover everything. The joys, the pains, the changes. Every little physical or emotional thing. Not everything will shock you. Especially the things I start with. Yes, I'm taking the easy route and starting with the things that don't scare me anymore. The things that I don't feel vulnerable when discussing them. But eventually I'll get to the bits that people don't know. The bits that terrify me to mention. I just have to work up the courage to get it out.

And, like with La Bell et la Bete, I'm writing all this in a journal and posting it online. However I won't be omitting things online. (For those unfamiliar with that journal: I was trying to put myself back together after being told by the guy I was seeing that I  wasn't worth the fight. Good news, it had a happy ending. Not with that guy, but with a much better man. Which is part of the reason behind this.)

Yes, I'm in a relationship and it's pretty serious. He sees something in me that I can't fathom. And I guess this is a good way to start this journey. How I see myself. Because, well, that's the big issue here. The way I see myself isn't all that great. And I can pinpoint why. I was trained to see myself that way.

I'm struggling to write down how I see myself because it's painful. And this is far from a cry for attention. I don't want to hear I'm pretty or I'm beautiful. Because, quite frankly, I don't believe you. Don't waste your time. I'm far from those things. I don't remember a time when I actually thought I was those things.

I'm broken. I'm useless. I'm a freak. I'm overweight. I've got scars all over the place. I'm different. I'm too tall. My smile isn't natural. I'm too different. I'm not pretty. I'm not beautiful. I'm not model thin. I don't have perfect skin.
My feet are deformed. I'm weak. I'm stupid. I'm awkward. I'm not confident. I'm unappealing. I'm nothing. I'm UGLY.

I've lived my whole life being compared. It seemed so natural. So normal. I grew up being compared to my sister. That was horrible. I'm nothing like my sister. I never should be. If you want another one of her, clone her. But I don't think the world can handle it. Trust me. Funny enough, in a pretty dark part of my family's past my dad told me to never be like my sister. I'll get to that time later. It's not pertinent right now.

I've been compared to ex-girlfriends. A lot. That was worse than being compares to my sister. And, like in La Belle et la Bete, I think I'll call my exes Gastons. Their real names don't matter. Gaston #1, oh he's prolly gonna get an entry all to himself. He was that destroying. And that entry might come pretty soon just so I can get him behind me. But, anyways, he only compared me to an ex once, but it was pretty demeaning. Looking back, I should have gotten out sooner, but he was my first. But back to the comparison. I wasn't allowed to be friends with his best friend because one of his previous girlfriends dumped him for the guy. And I was told this after we had been dating for prolly 6 months or more. I didn't realize how demeaning that was until just now. Even tho he was my first in EVERYTHING, I had such low self-control that I was going to hop into some random stranger's bed. Wow. What a jackass. His entry might get written tonight. But not here. This isn't about him. He just helped. Next ex comparison....

Gaston #3 gets the reward for worst constant comparison ever. I knew he hated his ex. He told me constantly. She did some pretty unforgivable things. Yet this never stopped him from telling me how much I was like her. And it was never in a good way. It was constantly demeaning and attacking. Always done when he was mad at something or we were in a fight. He would tell me after the fact that he didn't mean it and knew I was nothing like her. But that never stopped him from doing it again and again and again.

But the worst comparison of all goes to society. I grew up being compared to the unattainable. Every magazine staring back at me with their size 0 waist and flawless skin that I'd never have. I'd never be able to fit into that mold, no matter how much I pushed and prodded and squeezed and sucked in. If that was the image of beauty, then how could I ever be seen as being remotely okay to look at? How can I see myself as pretty when I don't look like them? They're what's wanted by the male gender, not me. I'm leftovers. Why would anyone want me when they can have that?

And therein lies my problem. I grew up in a world of comparisons. I can't look at myself any other way. I know all those things I wrote in that paragraph aren't true. But that doesn't change the power they have over me. One day they'll be just words, but that day is not today. Nor tomorrow. Nor this year nor the next. I've been tying to rewire my brain for years. It hasn't happened yet. It's not something that will happen over night. I'm working on it, tho.

I hate how I've been brainwashed into hating myself so much. But it makes me happy to see how society's changing. The models and celebrities in those magazines are standing up and holding the media accountable. They're posting their normal selves. Some of them are even forcing their pictures to be unedited. It gives me hope for the young girls growing up now. It gives me hope for my daughter, if I ever have one. The world's changing and I want to change with it.

I have a favor to ask to those reading this, and it's kinda a big one. I understand if you can't do it. When you see me in the real world or talk to me online, don't tell me I'm pretty or beautiful or gorgeous. Don't put those words on pictures of me. It might be the truth in your eyes, but it's not the truth I see. It only reminds me of all those things I see instead. I know you've got the best intentions, but it's doing more harm than good in my fragile psyche. And I can't handle it anymore. You might see the beauty, but all I can focus on are the flaws.