GUILT and SHAME: How Abuse Distorts Perceptions

WARNING: This post may cause triggers. Sharing about self body image, psychological abuse and sexual abuse.

How many of us can recognize how our pasts effect our present and future? Not being able to see this connection is not as uncommon as you might think. As a matter of fact, it is more common that you could imagine. That is why I will periodically write about past events and explain how those events affect me today.

Eating disorders don't start out of the blue. They develop over time. For every addictive or hurtful behavior there is a root beginning. There is a point where things shift and move towards an unhealthy path. It is time to recognize those points of shifting, work through them and propel ourselves into a healthier direction.

I don't think that I've talked much about my feelings of guilt, shame or disgust. Though I do not feel at fault for what my parents have done to me, I do feel fault and guilty for what I've done to myself. I've also recently discovered that I feel fault and guilt about things my parents blamed me for especially if there was something I did want to do and I am told that something bad came of it...I believed it.

GUILT

When I was very young, about 6 or 7 we had this lovely dog named Brutus. Funny, I'm just now able to remember his name. He was a large brown boxer. My parents had just recently gotten him. I was a little afraid of him because he was so large, but I cared for him very much and wanted to bond with him. One day after finishing my school work I went out side to play with Brutus. He was lying beside the back porch. I called his name, but there was no response. I called is name again and still no response. Then I began screaming his name over and over again. I ran in the house still screaming and crying. My mom had her back to me. "He's dead...he's dead!" I guess my mom got tired of me screaming. She turned around and glared at me. "It's YOUR fault!", "It's YOUR fault that he's dead!", "YOU never wanted to feed him or clean up after him! I had to do it all!", "He died because YOU didn't want to take care of him!" Eyes stretched wide and completely silenced, I stopped crying. Was it really my fault? Did I kill Brutus?

To this day that moment still haunts me and yes, in a strange kind of way, I still feel guilt for Brutus' death. I feel guilt when I get a little angry with my son and just want him to go to another room and be quiet for awhile. It's not that I would have said anything. Usually it's just a passing thought. But there have been times when he's gotten sick after I had a thought like that and I wondered...was it my fault? Will God take him away from me because I wanted him to be quiet? It is truly unfortunate what I experienced that day so many years ago. And it is even more unfortunate that I am still affected by my mother's words.

Recently there has been another incident when I've felt profound guilt for something I ultimately had no control over. It was when my son had his bout with constipation. Even though his pediatrician said it was common, I still felt as thought I had done something wrong. I could not sleep for carrying the guilt. My guilt turned into anger. How dare my body work properly when my son's body cannot. The guilt was more than I could bare. I hated myself and I began starving myself again. I know this is extreme. I can't help how I felt. I believed bad things happen when you don't do things perfectly and being a less than perfect mother caused my son to get sick. This way of thinking is a product of the abuse that I endured. I realize that. Now I need to figure out how to combat those strong emotional responses to my past. How do I shake this?

SHAME

My parents were ashamed of me and I was ashamed for embarrassing them especially in public. I could always tell they felt this way. It was how their voices dropped when it came time to introduce me. "And this is my (pause) daughter." Not only did I not behave normally like other kids my age. I wasn't as attractive as my parents. They were picture perfect...on the outside... I felt like an alien, often wondering if they found me under a bush or perhaps someone left me on their doorstep. I would imagine a spaceship flying by and I haphazardly thrown from the ship landed in my parents yard. I can't ever remember feeling as thought I belonged. Oh well, they were stuck with me and I them.

I  about being fat and an eyesore...a disappointment. They would constantly point out all of my flaws and tried earnestly to figure out how to correct them. I lost the ability to see myself as worthy of being loved or worthy of anything. I lost the ability to see myself at all.

I never believe that I deserved how I was treated, but I didn't believe that I deserved to be treated any better either. I wasn't sure what better was anyway.

I still feel the shame for being fat and unattractive. And fat is still my safety net, never to worry about being touched again. Just thinking about it makes me want to scarf down a few oatmeal cream pies as I schlep around the house in old socks and loose clothing camouflaging my girth. It's not working. I tell myself that I dress this way because I want to be comfortable. Lie! I'm hiding...hiding in plain sight. If only I could implode and disappear.

Everyday is a struggle...going through life hoping no one sees me. I hate having to deal with the outside world, my tenants, especially. When I go to the properties, I feel like everyone is staring at me because I'm so fat and disgusting. Shame oozes out of my pores as I encounter each new person. There is silence and  Dear God, please make this go away. I am that same little girl walking down the street with her parents and feeling as though she is a complete outcast and does not belong. Only now I'm not with my parents, I'm with my son. My beautiful son, tall, handsome and well dressed. And here I am...well, I just am.

This reminds me of a book I once purchased for a friend, "When will I Be Good Enough: Healing the Daughters of Narcissistic Mothers." I should have kept that book for myself. I'm always stuck in between feeling or not feeling good enough to be my son's mom. Almost identical to feeling that I was not good enough to the daughter of my parents.

Are you starting to see the distinct patterns between past and present?

All I've ever wanted was to be loved and accepted. No matter how I look I would never be accepted or loved by my parents, many family members and past so called friends.

Fact: In the past, most of the people in my life were only in my life because they wanted or needed something. I am not mad at them. I only wish that I could have had a healthier relationship with them. I wish they could have seem more value in me as a person.

Now that I have been blessed with both love and acceptance from my son and a few friends, I still struggle with believing that it's real or perhaps I just don't know how to accept unconditional love, because it's not something that I'm familiar with.

I hope to become a healthier slimmer me without the fear. I don't know what it's going to take to get there, but as many of you already know, I am always searching for answers and solutions and I believe I will find those answers and solutions one day.  

A huge thank you to those of you who I've come to know and love. Thank you for your support, love and kindness and thank you most of all for your acceptance.

Slippery Slope

June 2013

Week 2

 

 I continue to assessing and documenting my life with NES, always keeping in mind that the struggle is ever present especially in the now.

I am a long way from combating Night Eating Syndrome. I’ve made great strides in accepting that I have this condition and am actively working towards a healthier life and lifestyle. My struggle with this disorder is more prevalent now because I am seeing the reality of it. Writing this blog is a way for me to relieve my mind of some of the facts and feelings associated with this disorder. This is my attempt at taking a stand and be accountable for my actions no matter the root source or the outcome.

I’ve been doing fairly well managing my NES this past year, much better than a few years ago. For the most part, I am able to consume more of my caloric intake before 7pm which is monumental for me. In the past my caloric intake was next to nil during the day. Even though I would start eating around 4:30-5:00pm, I would only take a few bites before hoarded the rest for later.

This week I have been experiencing a little more stress then my norm and I find myself reverting back to some of my old ways. I am picking up on a definitive pattern. The onset of binge eating tends to occur when stress levels are on the rise; daytime appetite decreases rapidly as I fast approach full binge mode, that is, if I’m not careful. Note to self…continue working on managing stress. Can’t stop stressors from occurring, but I can change how I deal with them. There is one good thing in all of this...I am identifying the problems and working towards correcting them. Besides, beating myself up about this is not going to help. Let’s face it, it took more than a day to develop this disorder and it’s certainly going to take more than a day to cure it.

My most recent binge happened a few days ago. I hoarded some food from dinner specifically to consume during late night hours. I was fully aware of what I was doing and proceeded anyway. The urge was strong and I gave into it. I did not want to fight it and possibly cause a bigger binge. That night, I tried several things to relax like playing music or writing. This helped for a while, but I still could not fight the urge to feed before sleeping.  So I did. I consumed the foods designated for my night time feed and then off to sleep I went. The next day, I forgetting to eat breakfast. I did not eat a morsel until about 2:30pm. Not good, but not my worst. Of course eating later in the day throws everything off. I still cooked dinner, but opted to eat much later than my new norm.

The next day, I didn’t eat anything until after 5pm. This is getting very bad. I’m heading towards a bigger binge. I can feel it. I have to get focused and get back on track with my eating. It is imperative. I can’t afford to continue going backwards. I’ve come too far and my health is on the mend. I don’t ever want to get as sick as I was before buckling down to combat this dreaded thing.

Since Friday, my stressful period has calmed and all is well. Yesterday and today I ate breakfast, lunch, dinner and a snack. So far I do not have the urge to binge tonight. I've already put away the left overs from dinner. Now I’ve got to come up with a better strategy for maintaining a healthy eating plan during high stress times. I've really got my work cut out for me with this one.

There are slippery slopes on this journey and last week I slipped pretty hard. But I’m regaining my footing and so onward and upward…one step at a time…one day at a time.

Assessing the Development of My NES and Other Eating Issues

I’ve been spending more time talking to people about eating disorders. It’s been a freeing experience to talk about my NES and listening to others share stories about their eating issues. I was intrigued to find that there are different feelings associated with binging. Reading about the studies of different eating disorders is not the same as speaking to actual people and hashing out the small details. What’s most interesting is hearing how the binging experience makes them feel. I’m most interested in what emotions they have leading up to the binge, during the binge, after the binge. I’m also curious if the binge is planned or if it’s spontaneous.

Listening to others helps me to think about my relationship with food. I discovered that I have several levels of experiences with binging and food intake in general. From what I can tell, the way I binge depends on the level of stress and perhaps the origin of the stressors and triggers as well. There is a good portion that appears to be a more of a habit. Much like the formation of habitual and/or ritualistic behaviors associated with the development of addiction. It started off as a relatively benign act (or so it seemed) and then it grew into somewhat of a separate entity. The behaviors took on a life of their own and my mind simply adapted. I would even go so far as to say it’s like having an alter ego, being one way by day and another by night.

Eating at night was a way to release tension and to relax. I also loved the challenge of acquiring food for my night time feeds. I guess you could call it was the thrill of the hunt if you consider chiseling off pieces of frozen cake in the middle of the night hunting.  I would feel triumphant as if having conquered the giant and reaping the spoils. A sense of calm would come over me. Not quite euphoric, but close enough.

I have always associated feelings of euphoria with mouthing. It started with me sucking my toes to comfort myself and quickly escalated into increased mouthing and sometimes consumption of inedible objects. So I guess it’s no surprise to you that I’m diagnosed with PICA as well. As a young child, my biggest craving was bath soap. Ivory soap was the soap of choice. I loved the creamy saltiness of it. I didn’t much like taking baths growing up. Don’t ask me why, I’m really not sure. It just seemed that I could be doing so much more with my time. Eating soap made bathing more enjoyable. I looked forward to it. My mom would run the bath water for me. I’d get in and let the bar of soap float in the water for a few minutes. The soap would soften and then I would begin to eat. Always starting at the corners and slowly working my way towards the center. I never ate the entire bar in one night. It usually took me at least 3 to 4 nights depending. I don’t eat soap anymore and have not for many years; however, I do still have the occasional craving.

Food consumption or the shift of the meaning of food consumption started around the age of 4 or 5 years old. Changes in body mass were more prevalent. It seems that I was developing a pattern of gaining at least 10 to 13 pounds a year. By the time I was 10 I weighed just over 100 pounds. This is the pivotal point that marks the beginning of food deprivation and how that deprivation further locked me into a vicious cycle of cutting meal size by day and having an increased need for comfort by night. As the need for night time comfort increased I became bolder about acquiring the foods I needed. I would almost stop at nothing. Like a drug addict I’d steal money to make food purchases after school. Once home I’d find obscure places to stash my food, always careful to keep the evidence of my eating undetected. That’s why my unnatural weight gain was such a mystery to my parents.

By middle school my life was split was well defined into two levels of existence. During the day I deprived myself of food and at night I would gorge myself on all kinds of sweet and salty treats. I started with cutting out breakfast. Instead I would drink a glass of juice or milk. This made my parents proud which was no easy task. My parents were seldom proud of me. So my thought process was to increase my level of deprivation so they would be even more proud and perhaps love me some day. My mom would pack a normal sized lunch for me to take to school, but would only eat a small portion of it, hoarding the rest for later. I opted to take the city bus home after school because I needed time to go to a nearby store to purchase snacks and other food items.  I’d become obsessed with my new trend. I felt it was really working for me.

My parents, glad to see me making such sacrifice towards dieting would reward me with candy and treats from our store. Funny how history repeats itself isn’t it? I would gladly take my reward and add it to my hoard. Of course, my weight gain was still a mystery. There were countless trips to various doctors and endless dieting and still no positive long term results. No matter how many pounds I was able to lose I would gain it all back…plus.

At the age of 18 my mom decided to buy into a very popular diet. She paid $600.00 for the program plus purchased their prepackaged foods weekly. The food wasn’t bad, but I was forced to document what I ate. I hated eating according to the meal plan. This was a detriment to me, because it was taking me to a very uncomfortable place...eating more during the day. My focus remained on activities of the day including limiting food intake; however the food that I continued to eat at night was no longer acknowledged. It was as if the night feeds didn't really exist even though the behaviors were still very prominent.  

I tried to make myself look forward to eating the prepackaged meals. I was sure to document what I ate and when...forced to bear witness to every morsel I place in my mouth. This was excruciating at best. I hated having to pay so much attention to eating, especially during the day. I hated how it made me feel. I wanted it to stop. I gave though to purging, but talked myself out of it. As my distain grew my ability to eat the foods dissipated. I began starving myself again eating the smallest measure of food possible.  It was starting to pay off. I lost weight and was getting a lot of attention from men. I liked that. At this point I was barely consuming any calories before 6pm. I would chew gum and smoke cigarettes to appease my need to mouth. It wasn’t long before reaching the point where I was unable to keep any food or drink down during the day. I wasn’t purging voluntarily, but I do wonder if I was experiencing some sort of psychosomatic development. I actually thought I was having a reaction to the prepackaged foods. In hindsight I now recognized that I was in full daytime Anorexia mode. The thought of consuming anything in the light of day had become unthinkable.

I managed my night time feeds by eating large quantities of lettuce. Sometimes I would consume an entire head and a half in one sitting. I’d fulfill my need for night time comfort while giving way to appease a new fear of consuming calories. This is how I was able to lose weight for a while, but even that soon ended.   

I eventually stopped losing weight. It didn’t matter how little I ate. I guess I hit a plateau. That is a common occurrence when dieting, but seemingly unrecognizable as such to me. It just drove me to pursue more deprivation. In an attempt to detox for rapid weight loss, I went on a fast only consuming small amounts of apple and water when I felt weak. I did this fast for 13 days, stopping only because my eyes were turning yellow. I stood on the scale…not one ounce lost. I had given up and slowly began to resume old eating habits, still depriving myself during the day while hoarding and planning my binge for the night.

The battled between daytime Anorexia and night Binging continued for many more years.

I Get So Frustrated!!!!!

Writing about myself is one of the hardest things I've ever tried to do. Yet I can't stop trying. I need to get my words out, if for no one other than myself. I get so frustrated when reading others blogs. I love to read them and enjoy the content of their posts, but I find myself getting lost in envy over their fluidity of total expression. I wonder, do they struggle like I do? Do they sit at a little wooden desk and fret for countless days, months and hours...agonizing over every word, writing and re-writing...walking away and returning? Whenever I'm not in front of my computer I feel like I am about to burst at the seems. There is so much that wants to come out. Why is it so hard?!

Just when I think that I've figured it all out and am ready to open up the flood gates I go dry again. Where is inspiration? Isn't it enough to live the story that I want to tell? My words feel emotionless and sterile. Yes, that would best describe it. Perhaps I'm trying to hard. Perhaps it just me and my disconnection to life. My mind won't allow me to feel the fullness of my emotions. I guess it would be too much. Maybe I should just close my eyes and breathe... All I can see are words floating around in space...taunting me...haunting me. Memories flash before my eyes, yet I still feel nothing. I think I want to cry and scream, but I can't. There's nothing there...

I looked into the mirror once and saw a women mentally bludgeoned. I've been violated in every possible way. My spirit battered, broken and left for dead. My girth increasing and decreasing...increasing and decreasing...increasing and decreasing... I am OBESE!! I am UGLY!! I am UNWANTED!! I am UNLOVABLE!! There's no escape. I'm going crazy, I need to release. Please God help me!!!!

I can walk through a house of mirrors and never see my own reflection. Conditioned to ignore the obvious. I live an illusion. I always have. Where there should have been love...there was none. Where there should have been protection...there was none. Where there should have been comfort...there was none. Where there should have been laughter, joy, fun, adventure...there was none. I have been imprisoned by life, my parents, my conditions and even my own mind... Flawed from head to toe...inside and out. I am queen of the misfits...discarded like a broke Christmas ornament. I want to see beauty, but I can't. I know beauty lives inside. I want to be beautiful on the outside. I can't see myself because I don't want to. I don't want to face the ugly truth. My friends, they tell me I'm beautiful, but they are just being kind.

I crawl out of my hole and begin to pick up the pieces. I try to make sense of what's left of my life. I put on the face of strength for my child. I don't want him to see me broken even though he already knows that I am. You see, he knows first hand the pain that is mine. When he was a toddler we used to visit my parents on the weekends. It would take most of the day for me to manage the thought... Hours of crying and vomiting and then slowing getting ready to face the beast. My dad, never satisfied, would always criticize me. One day it had gotten so bad that my precious little one ran over to me, jumped onto my lap and wrapped his arms around my neck...screaming and crying. He turned to look at my dad as if to say...leave my mommy alone. I hugged and kissed him and told him it was okay. We went home. There were many occasions like this, but I dare not miss a weekend. My parents insisted that we break bread together every Saturday. My mother still presenting the face of perfection. Still perpetuating the lie. Will it ever stop?

My parents are gone now. Would it be wrong for me to say that I am grateful? Should I feel guilty for feeling this way? My son can since that I am still haunted by my past. It is on those days that he hugs me and rubs my face to ensure me that it's okay. I look at him in think how precious he is. He is perfect. He will never know the beatings, ridicule, disconnection, blame and hate that I endured. If only I too had been so precious to my parents.

I relish the joy and peace that we have in our home. My son will never have to question if he is loved. He will never feel the pain I felt. I thank God for that. I thank God that he made me strong enough to break the curse. I thank God for the blessing of my son and the gift of motherhood. Thank you God for showing me what parenting should be... How love should feel... What peace is...

It is because of my love for my son and my quest for healing that I take this journey. I want my son to have the absolute best of me. I want to be free. Not stuffing my pain, but releasing and letting it go...completely. That is my goal. And I will achieve this even if it takes me one letter at a time...