a dream for Judy

I am confused by the thin person I see in the mirror.
I don't know how I want to be.
When I am not thin, I long for it.  I want to see a hint of ribs and long branch of torso curve up into my armpits.  But I know this is not IT.  I cannot be defined by this body anymore.  That is the whole point of recovery, right?
At the same time, I am afraid to eat and mess it all up.
I know if I don't eat, it will get worse, and my distortion will grow.  I will get thinnner, and more confused, more driven to eat less.  Many people I know read this blog, people without eating disorders.  I get embarassed to reveal these thoughts.  I'm afraid they will think I am crazy, but I am here to tell the truth. 

At 4:12 a.m.  I rolled from my bed.  I kissed Andrew and put on my cozy clothes.  I made a cup of sugar-free hot chocolate and came to nest at the computer.  Now it is 2 hours later.  I am comfortable here, in this writing voice. 
I don't have to know anything. 
Be anything.
I just get to observe.
Then I record what I observe.
That's all it is.  Writing is noticing.

I studied art in school.

My best professor said, "I hope by the end of this class, you have learned to see in a new way."

It was a figure drawing class.  He said nothing about drawing.  Only about seeing.

Writing is the same.

It's my observations that reveal truth.  Just as a kid will draw what they think a cat looks like rather than an acutal cat.  I could fall into writing what I think I feel, or see, or do. 

When I shed all that and just record what is in front of me, a beauty is distilled.  I don't know how it happens.  It's like magic every time.  And I find, once again, there is enough.  Right here, there is enough.  I don't have to run ragged searching.

My favorite song as an 8 year-old girl was Somewhere Over the Rainbow. 

Now I am 33.

I am not waiting for a land from a lullabye where bluebirds fly and dreams come true.

Not anymore.  I liked this song because it was about transcendance.

Even though I was a kid, I knew. 

I knew none of this actually defines us.

I won't be satisfied by getting stuff, or keeping stuff, or becoming a title.

I bounced from thing to thing, never finishing.

I didn't attach myself to anything, anyone, at least not for long.

I screamed at life to show me something worth my time.  My heart.  My hope. 

That's how the eating disorder grew.

I thought, "I'm always going to be hungry.  It is never-ending.  So I may as well just not eat.  At least then I'll be skinny."

No needs.  That seemed the best way.  It still feels true sometimes.

The only way to contentment is an absence of appetite.

______________________________________________

I just got up and ate a tuna sandwich.  Odd breakfast.

But the truth is, I do care.

I do have things to eat for, to live for, to ache for.

Judy Garland died from an accidental overdose of barbituates.  She had cirrhosis of the liver.  Her whole adult life she felt inadequate.  Too fat.  Too crazy.  At 18 she began seeing a psychiatrist because of an emotional breakdown.  She started juggling amphetamines and barbituates to manage weight and mood.  Her weight not only fluctuated, but it was caught on film within the space of one movie.   She was married 5 times.   Her first suicide attempt came at 25 years old.  The same age I got sober. 
Here our paths veer apart. 
She suffered for 30 years and died at 47 years old in her bathroom.
I have been in recovery for 7 1/2 years, and it is worth all my time.  I live with my whole self today.  I am not crazy or separate or fat.  I am in.  I am all in.