Rose-Tinted Lies

**(EXTRA Trigger warning for blunt and not pretty ED talk)**

The_Reflection_of_Flight_by_kitkatfox

The glow and flame and burst of light you think you’ll have.  The silver insides, the fluttering clean, the glorious empty, the lightly skipping steps of a person who is perfectly thin.

It’s a rose-tinted lie.

Here’s what an eating disorder really is for me:

It’s two am and I wake up with those sudden feelings of self-hatred and the flab seems to be clinging, clinging,  Something has to be done.  It doesn’t matter that work is in the morning and I really shouldn’t be a shell at work.  I reach for the pills.

It’s living a life where measurement of pills are dolled out by shakes of a bottle and tosses into a shaking palm.  Proper dosage is only “more”.

It’s making sure I have enough ephedrine to curb the hunger pains and exhaustion.  It’s reading the articles that talk about it being mostly outlawed because when it was coupled with caffeine and aspirin it caused dramatic weight loss (and a lot of health problems).  And my only reaction is “gotta get some low-dose aspirin”.

It’s telling people I love eating hot sauce straight because I’m a weird nut about spicy food; when it’s really because it acts as a natural laxative and adds next to no calories.  And loving that it burns the shit out of my tongue so I don’t want to eat more.

It’s the burning and painful tenderness of my behind after I’ve had a particular violent bought with the laxative effects.

It’s sobbing in the middle of a weekend afternoon because I desperately want to bake something (baking being my secret passion) but knowing I’m not seeing anyone soon that I could pawn the results off on.  So I have to stop myself from doing it.  Otherwise I’ll just eat the results and cow’s don’t deserve desserts.

It’s being a little happy deep down when a particularly nasty migraine results in multiple days of vomiting.

It’s hating myself so deeply, so darkly, in a twisting thorn of rage, for the days after those migraines where I can’t eat enough.

It’s telling coworkers that I ate before I came to work and I would prefer to just work through lunch.

It’s shaking and trembling in the bathroom after those handful of laxatives, the cramping in my stomach so bad that I’m pretty sure I’m going to die.

It’s unexplained bruises and scratches when I wake up in the morning.  The only clue is a echoing cry of despairing self-hatred in the back of head.  It is almost childlike.

It’s hearing my best friend tell me I look like a pinup model in a swim suit and wishing, just wishing, that I could see myself that way.  I’m not dumb, I know my eyes are broken.

It’s hearing my mother say “You would never treat another person the horrible way you treat yourself” and being stunned into silence by the truth of it.  I am my own worse enemy.

It’s hoping, hoping, hoping that something will change.  But nothing ever does.

It’s a rose-tinted lie.

14 thoughts on “Rose-Tinted Lies

  1. Wanderer

    Your pain is not beautiful, but the way you express it is. That may be the wrong way to say, but your words are so powerful, so heart-and-gut wrenching. I can’t begin to imagine what it’s like, but I want to wrap you in this particular fuzzy blanket I own (it’s like a blanket made of clouds and snuggles) and put Zoe next to you so that you can feel warm and safe and loved.

    As always, only the best wishes for you. And I don’t think your eyes are broken, they’re just a little bit blurred.

    Reply
    1. Pen Post author

      You are so very lovely. I would love to be wrapped in a blanket (how’d you know???).

      I like that idea about my eyes being blurred. All I need are corrective lenses, like my contacts 🙂

      Reply
      1. Wanderer

        I just had a feeling…plus I’m pretty sure this blanket makes most of my problems seem better…the small-medium sized ones, anyway.

        I’m glad—blurriness is easier to correct. And exactly! 🙂

  2. Mental Mama

    It seems to me that what this all comes down to is learning how to love yourself, regardless of what that self looks like. You have a beautiful soul and I suspect that for those who are willing to spend even a tiny bit of time investing themselves in getting to know you, they see that beauty shine through. I’m sure it makes little difference right now, but when I picture you in my mind I always see you smiling and lovely. And your mom is 100% right – the Pen I know would never ever treat another being as poorly as you regularly treat yourself.

    Reply
    1. Pen Post author

      Thank you Mama. Those are such encouraging thoughts. I’ll do my best to keep that in mind and try and be better to myself.

      Reply
  3. sortaginger

    Thank you for sharing this. It is blunt but true. While my experience is different, there are so many similiarities. Why do we do this to ourselves? If it only were that easy to answer and remedy.

    Reply
    1. Pen Post author

      So very true. It’s nice to hear my situation is at least relate-able.

      Maybe we can both eventually find that ability to be gentle and loving towards ourselves ❤

      Reply
  4. Shawn Ashley

    [sighs] I can only relate…. Oh so much… Because… I have suffered an ED for most of my life… I have meddled in both anorexia and bulimia… It started as… A way to fit in with my skinny friends who would go throw up their lunch… At school… Laxatives…. Hot water… And OCD compulsions… Make for one hell of a problem.. Throw in PTSD… And you have yourself a fake mask.. Which you learn to wear almost as good as your real face…. Shawn Ashley can only understand oh so well… Thank you for sharing… It makes me realize that my self hatred and *need*… Isn’t the only one in existence… I just want to hug you… And I don’t just… Want to touch anyone… And that’s not to be in a weird perverted.. Sense.. Now I am just awkward… I’m good at that… I hope you *get* what I’m saying..

    Reply
    1. Pen Post author

      Don’t worry, I think I understand what you’re getting at. That sense of empathy and circumstances another person can relate to is healing in itself- even a little.
      I’m sorry you’ve been through it too though. I know what a struggle it is. Nothing is ever enough.

      I hope you can try a bit of gentleness with yourself. And I would love a hug from you. I would offer a safe one in return.

      Reply
  5. anxiouselephant

    I’m sorry it is so hard. I think it’s good that you realise that the way you see yourself is not how other people see you and that it is a lie. I really hope things improve for you here and you can learn to love yourself. Take care, hugs xxx

    Reply
    1. Pen Post author

      For some reason stupid WP dumped your comments into spam. I’m sorry. I fished them out and I thank you for these words.
      I am glad that I have that ability to realize how things are around me. Sometimes I worry I’m only a couple steps from something less “aware”; like schizophrenia.

      Hugs back lovely ❤ ❤

      Reply

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