FullaBella's Journal, 08 November 2013

I was thinking this morning ... I know.. alert the press, right? But I'd been going around and around with something in my head and felt another tumbler 'almost' fall into place. Had it clicked perfectly the hamster wheel in my head could have ceased the endless squeaking for a while but alas, it was not meant to be. Not today anyway.

'Make Peace with Myself' goes far deeper than most people would imagine. Journals like yesterday give off the illusion that I've arrived, am wise beyond my years or have all the answers. I feel the unavoidable undeniable NEED to reinforce I do NOT. Never, ever, ever. The question is (and was this morning)... WHY?

The near click was 'because you spent your lifetime feeling like a complete fraud thanks to spending your childhood being lied to, abused and invalidated to the point you've never been able to trust yourself.'

And much like the old cliché 'You have to love yourself for others to love you..' well, for me, replace 'love' with 'trust'. I'm pretty darn old to still not trust myself. And it sucks.

I receive so many comments and compliments indicating people think I have my crap together and it's anything BUT. I spent the previous 20 plus years of my corporate career expecting to be fired every single time someone walked into my office or the phone rang. Which is ironic and contradictory because the pathetic little people pleaser in me (another charming textbook trait of the child abuse survivor) made me the ultimate overachiever workaholic. I just knew any minute someone was going to find out I was truly an idiot, had only been promoted thanks to the Peter Principle, and I would endure public humiliation akin to Chuck Conners being stripped of his stripes in Branded for fooling people all along.

In all candid modesty - I usually excel at almost anything I put my mind to excluding grammar and homemade pastry. The ability to roll out a decent pie crust or serve biscuits lighter than hockey pucks continues to elude me. But it's almost all for nothing because I feel like I'm faking it and my deception is going to be discovered any day now.

So I tried to imagine, were I to put my head into the hands of a skilled shrinker, what would they say or advise? Me, I'd like to take the shortcut. Just go straight for the lobotomy that wipes off the section of my prefrontal cortex holding the memory of being deceived and humiliated. Walking out with near amnesia seems a better option for starting over than having someone tell me that with only 520 sessions they'd probably be able to help me as long as I'm willing to do the work. Would Robin Williams hugging me tight and repeating 'It's not your Fault' heal me?

The ability to imagine a cure felt hopeless at that moment so in my usual Scarlett O'Hare approach to my issues I decided I'd worry about it another day; just recognizing the 'why' was a big enough step for now even though the 'now what' remains at large. So instead, I decided to think about this current war being waged between my body, mind and emotions.

For many months now, since finally accepting and understanding the 'fist size meal portion' logic in EWYL I've been doing well; heck, I even put the bowl in my totem, remember? This week, that portion seems too much. I'd grown very comfortable knowing that was the right size of a meal, using a mindful approach of eating when hungry and still eating with attention and intention. I'd FELT the one 'no brainer' approach I had in all of this was knowing the portion mass was spot on.

This week, it has been totally off base and is, pardon me, totally screwing with me and pissing me off. I'd write 'pardon my French' but I'd have to compose that as 'le-screwing with me and le-pissing me off' I guess. Can you believe I never took a single French lesson?

Back to the issue. If I do eat my fist portion, I feel too full and uncomfortable and then the whole self talk 'boy you screwed it up now ... where was the attention .. where was the mindfulness' starts and it's immediately followed by 'well, fine... go ahead and have those two thick slices of cinnamon streusel with dark cherry frozen yogurt since you've already gone this far' and then my stomach is hurting BAD and I fall asleep miserable, disgusted and fighting the urge to purge.

I KNOW if I step back into that mode and use le-potty to flush away evidence of my mindlessness it'll be a slippery slope back to eating disorder hell. So far, I haven't. I know to stop at half of my portion isn't near enough nutrition for the day. I HATE this and wondering if it's physiological (stomach issue, stress, ulcer) or my subconscious rebellious eating disorder doppleganger trying to screw with me during toddlerhood by not eating enough. So I've sat with the discomfort and tried to remember it but as I repeated it not only a second but THIRD time, well, I have an issue. And I'm really freaking aggravated to NOT KNOW WHAT I NEED by now.

So usually, once I come clean in my journal it goes away. Once I put my own humiliation out for public display I manage to get a grip on the situation and find the answer. Here's hoping before I get a huge 'ED' branded on my fork hand.


Bells