Heart-to-Heart Coming Inside the Bubble

It is very difficult to watch other people care so much and be so concerned when I am so extremely apathetic. “Why?” she asked, coffee in hand, walking a trail that led around the park. “I don’t know. I wish I cared, I wish I gave a damn. It is so frustrating to see others be concerned, but yet just not care. You can only care about me for so long until you say, ‘Well, screw it, you don’t even care’.”

We stopped at the park for a bit, every now and then I would pipe up with a sarcastic comment to try and lighten the tone of such a dreary topic. “Well if I were in your shoes,” she began, “…your feet would be a lot warmer right now.” I interjected. “This time last year you were eating Clif bars, eggs, bananas.” I reflected on the truth behind what she was saying.

Throughout our walk/talk/coffee sipping, my walls slowly began to come down. Starting off with snarky comments: “You keep deflecting my question.” “Well, what is it? Just go for the throat, my doctor already told me my complexion looks so shitty from the anorexia and starving myself, so it can’t be more brutal than that.”

To the more truthful: “I just hate myself. I hate my body. I don’t think I am sick enough. I’m not in the hospital, passing out, etc.”

When finally the walls came down: “I wish I saw myself how others do, I just see fat. Thighs, a gut, muffin tops. I hate my body. I like being able to see ribs, collar bones, it excites me.”

She sat there and listened. Trying to talk me into eating. She began to cry, “I don’t want to go to your funeral. I love you and care about you.”  “My heart and everything is fine, it’s not going to happen.” “And that is the attitude that is going to kill you.”

I began to pace a little as we talked, she tried more to not cry, I attempted to deflect some more. We even briefly hit on the lax I have been taking, she pleaded for me to stop taking those.  I was on a bench walking around and around a table, circling the table to avoid eye contact. She talked about trying to eat and keep one thing down a day. I opened up a little more about my dysmorphia, “I just don’t see it! I look in the mirror and hate it.” “Sweetie! You are a twig! You are tiny!”

During one of my laps around the table I stopped and looked at her. She reached toward me, I backed away and was ready to start lap number 2,864 (bit of an exaggeration) around the table on the bench. “Come back here.” “No, you are gonna get in my damn bubble.” “Yeah, I am, deal with it, I’m barely going to touch you.” I took a step forward. With her hands she grabbed my right thigh, her thumbs and middle fingers met together with ease. I flinched. She let go of my leg and returned her fingers to where they had just been, only without my leg in the middle. Showing me the circumference that was made, waiting for some reaction. “You moved your fingers.” “Honey, no I didn’t. We will remeasure if you want.” “No.”

We continued talking about covering my mirror, she asked if I had any clothes that still fit, told me about the people at work who had made comments about how much weight I had lost. After lap 3,071 I had a seat on the table I had been pacing and circling like a shark waiting for its prey. She had a seat next to me and grabbed my leg again, this time my calf. I pulled away again. She talked about tactics like going on a drive, going on a walk, something to do after I eat to try and not fixate on what I had done. She motioned to my large sweatshirt I had on and gestured to my mid section and hips, “You try and cover all of this, but there is nothing there.” I looked at her and pinched my side where my muffin tops were cozily nestled on top of my leggings. She too grabbed it, “This?! This is skin! There is nothing there. You work out so much that you need to give yourself a break, because whatever you eat, you are going to burn right off.”

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2 thoughts on “Heart-to-Heart Coming Inside the Bubble

  1. My Love,

    I am so saddened by this painful time for you – and I know deep down that you are sick and your body is suffering. But at the same time, I envy you so much. I want to be just like you.

    1. I don’t even want to be me. Hah, go for it. I continue to think I’m not bad, or sick, or skinny. I am stuck between thinking I am completely fine and healthy and being aware I should look into help.
      I am being referred to another therapist next week, and seeing a nutritionist. A few people, doctor included, have told me just because my blood work is “normal” does not mean I am “healthy”.

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