A friend posted a link about sexual/emotional anorexia yesterday afternoon, and upon reading it, I got a bit of a gut punch. It felt far, FAR too familiar.
The symptoms vary, the reasons vary... but the basics behind the concept felt like truth.
I don't really know what that means, in terms of how much good it does me to put a label on my reality. I am completely, utterly invested in changing my inner emotional landscape, so I suppose it does help to start to categorize what exactly I'm fighting against.
I have this very strong tendency to want to fight, but to believe that the circumstances have to be perfect for me to do so. Like, my outer reality needs to perfectly reflect whatever it is I am fighting for in my inner reality. In this case, in the fight for my own emotional soul, my outer reality would ideally be a mix of monkhood and true love that makes me want to fight for it.
I also have a very strong tendency, though, to sabotage my outer reality so I don't HAVE to work on my inner reality.
Much of my mental processing power these days has been taken up by trying to figure out ways to subvert my old paradigms. It is not easy. My mind, I have found, doesn't really think like most others. Everyone is pretty damn sure of this, of course. Well, most everyone. There are some who are more comfortable in the knowledge of hive (she said disdainfully, like there was something wrong with the power of being a worker bee). But, as storytelling creatures, we are all both the heroes and narrators of our own journeys. That narrative voice, we want to believe, is perfectly unique.
For me, I know I am not perfectly unique. But I am unique enough that very little out there WORKS for me when it comes to prepackaged self help mechanisms. I can not follow directions if those directions have a step in them that doesn't work for me. What happens is, I do great till I get to that step, then I stumble and fall down the entire flight after that. I can't ever seem to just hop over that single (well, to be fair, it's rarely a single step that doesn't fit me) god damn step. I have tried, many times, to digest prepackaged self help concepts, ideas, and actions. They always, ALWAYS wind up feeling alien and uncomfortable and distinctly unhelpful.
So, I am figuring this shit out on my own. I have done pretty fucking good on figuring out my external world, on crafting an external reality that suits me. Most of that kind of fell into place easily, though, after I made a few difficult changes and adjustments. Not that I didn't put a lot of effort into crafting this reality. I did. It was just... easy effort. It felt right.
Helping myself has never felt right. Being kind to myself, loving myself, has never felt right. I haven't yet figured out how to get over that particular hump. No matter how many times you tell yourself you SHOULD love yourself, it's just a thought exercise. A nice idea, but a seemingly impossible reality.
Although, bringing it back to the first sentence, there are moments when I love myself without reservation. Interestingly enough, it's always when I am doing something physically satisfying. ALWAYS. When I am dancing, I adore myself, every part of me. I close my eyes and make slow, sweet love to the rhythm, and expect it to love me back. When I am working hard at a task I have chosen for myself, I love every muscle, bone, sinew, cell in my body. I expect nothing but the best from the team I am composed of, and always receive it. When I am fucking... oh, when I am fucking, I am a symphony. I forget every imperfection, and fall gladly into the depths of my body, giving and receiving everything I am capable of.
So, of course, I rarely do physical things I love. That punishment, that withholding of love... that is where the anorexia comes in. And it's not a small thing. It is a sustained, long term, genuinely dangerous withholding of love. Deliberate, in as much as unthinking actions can be deliberate.
And I have no idea why. I do not know WHY I so deeply believe I am not supposed to feel love. Of myself, from others.
I don't know that I care why. Maybe only as much as I need to know why in order to change. Because that's all I want. All I want is to change that. I refuse to spend the rest of my adult life quietly refusing to feel or be loved.
Now I just have to figure out the how.
It can not involve others. Not at first. I am prone to accepting subpar manifestations of love, because I have not wanted the real thing. They are convenient distractions, and satisfying junk food.
Food. That's another interesting aspect of love. And flagellation. But maybe for another time. I don't want to get caught up in too many sticky webs of thought.
The symptoms vary, the reasons vary... but the basics behind the concept felt like truth.
I don't really know what that means, in terms of how much good it does me to put a label on my reality. I am completely, utterly invested in changing my inner emotional landscape, so I suppose it does help to start to categorize what exactly I'm fighting against.
I have this very strong tendency to want to fight, but to believe that the circumstances have to be perfect for me to do so. Like, my outer reality needs to perfectly reflect whatever it is I am fighting for in my inner reality. In this case, in the fight for my own emotional soul, my outer reality would ideally be a mix of monkhood and true love that makes me want to fight for it.
I also have a very strong tendency, though, to sabotage my outer reality so I don't HAVE to work on my inner reality.
Much of my mental processing power these days has been taken up by trying to figure out ways to subvert my old paradigms. It is not easy. My mind, I have found, doesn't really think like most others. Everyone is pretty damn sure of this, of course. Well, most everyone. There are some who are more comfortable in the knowledge of hive (she said disdainfully, like there was something wrong with the power of being a worker bee). But, as storytelling creatures, we are all both the heroes and narrators of our own journeys. That narrative voice, we want to believe, is perfectly unique.
For me, I know I am not perfectly unique. But I am unique enough that very little out there WORKS for me when it comes to prepackaged self help mechanisms. I can not follow directions if those directions have a step in them that doesn't work for me. What happens is, I do great till I get to that step, then I stumble and fall down the entire flight after that. I can't ever seem to just hop over that single (well, to be fair, it's rarely a single step that doesn't fit me) god damn step. I have tried, many times, to digest prepackaged self help concepts, ideas, and actions. They always, ALWAYS wind up feeling alien and uncomfortable and distinctly unhelpful.
So, I am figuring this shit out on my own. I have done pretty fucking good on figuring out my external world, on crafting an external reality that suits me. Most of that kind of fell into place easily, though, after I made a few difficult changes and adjustments. Not that I didn't put a lot of effort into crafting this reality. I did. It was just... easy effort. It felt right.
Helping myself has never felt right. Being kind to myself, loving myself, has never felt right. I haven't yet figured out how to get over that particular hump. No matter how many times you tell yourself you SHOULD love yourself, it's just a thought exercise. A nice idea, but a seemingly impossible reality.
Although, bringing it back to the first sentence, there are moments when I love myself without reservation. Interestingly enough, it's always when I am doing something physically satisfying. ALWAYS. When I am dancing, I adore myself, every part of me. I close my eyes and make slow, sweet love to the rhythm, and expect it to love me back. When I am working hard at a task I have chosen for myself, I love every muscle, bone, sinew, cell in my body. I expect nothing but the best from the team I am composed of, and always receive it. When I am fucking... oh, when I am fucking, I am a symphony. I forget every imperfection, and fall gladly into the depths of my body, giving and receiving everything I am capable of.
So, of course, I rarely do physical things I love. That punishment, that withholding of love... that is where the anorexia comes in. And it's not a small thing. It is a sustained, long term, genuinely dangerous withholding of love. Deliberate, in as much as unthinking actions can be deliberate.
And I have no idea why. I do not know WHY I so deeply believe I am not supposed to feel love. Of myself, from others.
I don't know that I care why. Maybe only as much as I need to know why in order to change. Because that's all I want. All I want is to change that. I refuse to spend the rest of my adult life quietly refusing to feel or be loved.
Now I just have to figure out the how.
It can not involve others. Not at first. I am prone to accepting subpar manifestations of love, because I have not wanted the real thing. They are convenient distractions, and satisfying junk food.
Food. That's another interesting aspect of love. And flagellation. But maybe for another time. I don't want to get caught up in too many sticky webs of thought.
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