So often the subject of my therapy is how it all started. How it all began. What the ROOTS of my issues are. And so I have compiled quite the mental list of things that led me to who I am, and why I still struggle.
Eating:
As a child, I was always skinny. I was so tiny and long as a toddler, that people accused my mother of starving me. My Grandmother (one on my father's side, who I no longer speak with) would try to force food down my throat. Mayonnaise, grapes with Cool Whip, anything to MAKE ME EAT. It is not that I wanted to be thin at 5, but I was NOT hungry. It became a fight. "Zoe, you will sit at this table until your plate is clean" This resulted in me either sitting until my parents gave up many hours later, me sneaking food to my dog, or me stuffing my mouth, going to the bathroom, and spitting out the food. I was NOT hungry.
At 5 (my mother tells me this, I do not remember) I refuse to let anyone see my stomach. I tell her I am fat. I REFUSE to wear a swimsuit. I swim in a shirt and shorts.
Then comes Junior High, I am still super skinny. I still don't eat, still, not because of an ED, I am just not hungry.
Then comes High School. People make fun of me. People being mostly girls. I was 16, had not started my period yet, weighed about 90lbs at 5'6", and had perfect skin. It turns out, I have hypothyroidism, and instead of gaining weight, as most people with this diagnosis, my body goes the opposite direction. So, essentially, at 16, I still had not hit puberty. I recall a Halloween when I was a jeannie, my mom made the costume. I still have a picture of that Halloween. I remember thinking, my stomach is hanging over my pants, I am HUGE. I was not.
18, college, I am on Synthroid for 2 years now, I am still skinny, not quite 100lbs, but now I have boobs. Now I realize the power of being a 0, and what it can "do" for you. I become a fanatical exerciser. I run all around campus for an hour, then go to the gym until I am about to collapse. People tell me I look like a dancer, I relish in this, though I promise you, I have NO coordination! I live on the 5th floor, and NEVER once ( I swear on this) use the elevator. Even when I move, and have boxes to haul, I never use the Elevator. That would be weak. I don't even use the automatic doors at stores, that would be weak, something fat people do.
20, I start to gain weight. I am now 115lbs. This is HUGE. I am a 2. Holey shit, a 2. I meet my future husband, who in our first few sessions of sex, marvels at my waist. He is 28, and has been dating someone 30, I look tiny to him. Later he tells me I was too tiny, I looked too young. I know he says this because he loves me. Love blinds us.
Mental:
The first time I remember saying I wanted to die was 8. I could not figure out a math problem, and ran from my parent's study to my bedroom, grabbed a pair of scissors, held them at my throat my their hot pink handles and sobbed, "I just want to die, I am too stupid"
At 11 I joined the band. I made a rule. If while I practiced I messed up, in any way, their would be punishment. I had three chances. On the third chance, if a note was missed, a beat was wrong, I hurt myself. I bit myself, or I hit myself with a belt, or I hit my head on the wall. This all went unnoticed. We lived in a big house, and I was an only child, with my own "side of the house"
16, a friend asks me what happened to my arm. She goes to the school counselor and tells them my father hurt me. Little did she know.... My father did not cut my arm, I dug my nails into my arm, to bleed, because I could. Because I wanted to scream, but could not. My father did molest me, but no one knew then, not even me. I told the therapist that I just squeezed my arm too tight, she said "ok" and sent me on my way. No call to the parents.
College.... this is a bit of a blur. I was a whirlwind of pain. I sat in my tub and cut cut cut...because it is all I could do. I did not eat or sleep for days, and passed out at a restaurant I was waiting tables at. My boss saw the cuts on my arms, I told him my cat attacked me. No one came, no one helped.
19, I swallow half a bottle of Trazadone, before it hits me, "I don't want to die". I end up in the hospital, where they pump my stomach, then make me swallow liquid charcoal. I promise you, this was worse then the fear of dying! My parents don't even come to see me. I stay alone in the hospital over night, they release me on my own will the next afternoon, I go to the grocery store and pretend it never happened. It is written off as a mistake. oops!
20, I find my therapist. We talk, I can not cry. No tears will come. Nothing can make me cry. I tell her of my childhood. What do you mean it is not normal to drive your drunk father home at 10? What do you mean father's don't touch their daughters like that? You mean, father's are not supposed to hit you with the buckle end of a belt in the chest when you won't eat your spinach??? Who the fuck knew!
25...Here I am. There is SO much more to my story, but this tells the basic tale. I am married. My Husband knew NONE of this until we got married. He knew the cutting part, but not why. He even met my father. He now has to deal with the consequences of my past. He has to deal with me loving him to death, but on some days, dreading his touch. He has to deal with me hating my body. He has to deal with me collapsing into hysterics, because he kissed me after he ate onions. ( a trigger from my past) And he does. And he goes to all of my therapy sessions when I ask him to. And he reads all the right books, and does all the right things. And every day of my life, I tell myself, there is no way in hell I deserve him. All of this, all of this happened, because of one person.
And that one person, he was abused to. His mother abused him. And she was abuse, she was raised in a convent, and they abused her. I never heard all the stories, but she told me enough, to make me have nightmares. All of this a horrible cycle. If you know anyone, who is hurting another person, or being hurt. For the love of all that is good, tell SOMEONE. There were so many signs, and no one saw. So many hints, and no one heard.
Be that savior for someone.
Zoe
