Pretzel

My baby Beckam has had diarrhea for the last 5 days.
"He has lost weight," my husband notices as I plopped him in the bath.
Then he looks askew at me.
I've just stepped from the bath which Beckam is now soaking in.
I am bent in half drying my calves.
"And so have you...I've never seen you this skinny."
"What?"  I feel unsteady on my guilty legs. 
Loosing weight on accident is not a good sign.
Hearing "too skinny" comments from people who care about me is not a good sign.

Lydia and Sarah are swelling fast.

Lydia:  Yes! We are winning!  See. 
             You don't really know the truth.  You are still dilusional. 
             You have always known that.  You are not really getting better. 
             You are a fraud.  Anyone who looks at you knows what you are...
             a scared little girl who can't let herself eat.

Sarah:   It's okay.  You are on the path.  
             You don't know what it's supposed to look like.  It is always
             changing.  Just trust.  Even though you are scared.  None of it is wrong.

I get dressed in my tightest shirt to try and see what he is talking about.
I don't.  I can't see it.  But I know he is right.  I am small right now.  I only know this because of how my jeans fit today.  I noticed a couple of times.  My tight jeans are not so tight.  I felt relieved.  At least opening the food doors all the way has not made me gain weight, but I didn't expect to loose any.  So now I don't know how to answer him when he asks,
"Are you ok?"
We are bundled up on the couch about to watch Walking Dead.
I don't like gore or death or blood or violence.  I don't understand why it is interesting.
I watch it because he watches it.  I suppose it's kind of like a soap opera.  I just want to know what happens next.
I am a pretzel folded into the crook of his arm.  It is one of my spots.  I venture out slowly,
"Usually I'm ok.  But I really don't know how to answer that question.  You tell me I'm too skinny, and I honestly can't see it.  I don't believe you."
"Really?"  He is truly surprised by this.
I feel like I'm sinking.  I want to give him something that makes sense.
I explain to him what I am trying to do, what I am trying to let go of...it's not coming out right.


So I finally tell him the one thing I do know,
"When I am talking to a woman I know has an eating disorder, I never comment about her body."
It clicks,
"Oh, because she'll always be too fat or too skinny?"
"Ya, she will always be failing or succeeding."
"Ok, I get it."
"I need my outside appearance not to dictate whether or not I'm okay."
"So, are you okay?"
"I don't know.  I think so....maybe it's just from carrying Beckam around all the time.  He is pretty heavy.  It's a lot of work."
He smiles, and kisses my forehead.
"Yes it is."

To recover, I must learn to trust.  Trust Sarah.  This is the hardest part.  I have been so dillusional that I stopped menstruating for a whole year, yet still deprived myself of food.  I have ravenously eaten until my stomach balled me up on the couch, then walked straight to the kitchen for more.  I have purged at my daughter's school into the toddler toilet just minutes before wrapping her in my arms with a smile.  I have purged while pregnant because I was terrified to gain weight.  How can I possibly know what is healthy for myself?  The path is messy.  Uncertain.  Undefined.  Pain...with moments of light, warmth.

The only way is to trust...to walk....

step............^^^write^^^.............step......((rest))............step.....step.....**pray**.....^^write^^....step......((rest))....**pray**......step..........^^write^^.......step......**pray**

~~~~~~~~~thank you~~~~~~~~~

"A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving." – Lao Tzu



Anselm Kiefer, Varus, 1976

 



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