Me

Tracy, I can feel the change in you too. I'm so happy for you to be in a place of comfort.

Shh, You are a lovely person. I don't know you, but you radiate love. That's nice. Thanks.

This is me. This is my childhood. This is my life. I've always had difficulty determining when my eating disorder started. I could trace time backwards, but I could never figure out where the food behaviors started. I was out of my body long before I discovered food. I guess I have to look at the lies I can't live with now-- or rather, the ways I have accomodated my true self to live as someone who is not fully present by choice. Those are big questions.

I've had a hard time the last two weeks managing my food behaviors. Too much stress. I keep trying to check out. I'd rather be out than in.  I'm justifying the out. I can't find my love button. I just keep thinking...this is what I need to do for today. Next week I won't do this. Lies, lies, lies.

My sister was sexually abused as a child. I do not have any memories of her being abused or of being abused myself. I recall some inappropriate public moments with this particular relative, but nothing more. He once asked me to elbow him in his crotch, while fully dressed, on the front porch, in front of his friends. I protested, but eventually I did elbow him. They laughed. I thought it was weird. I walked away.

My sister was different. She wanted nothing but attention--most likely because of the abuse, even at a very young age she was inappropriate and/or too sexual for her age. We were never alike, so even though I noticed her clinging and carrying-on with other kids. I didn't talk about it.

She told me about the abuse when she was in her early twenties shortly before she was married. At her request, I promised not to tell, but told her that she had to tell our parents. She lied and said that she did tell them. Shortly after this conversation, I confronted my parents and complained that I didn't understand their behavior. I wanted to know why they weren't helping her after what happened to her. My mother then asked me "What happened to her?". I told her.

My mother was ill. Physically. They contacted the police. The statute of limitations was up. The abuser denied it. Then everyone was mad at me for not telling them sooner. I told them that I didn't want to break her trust, but that I was telling them now because I thought it was important. I didn't lie. She lied. I don't know what happened after that, as I wasn't part of it. 

 I'm different by choice. Even my eating disorder allows me to be different and separate. It allows me to be alone.

I went to see a religious healer once and they told me that there was something way back in the past that I needed to release. I thought it might be ancesteral. However, I can't be certain. I've tried remembering unusual moments, things that stick out in my memory, but I only recall one time events that made me uncomfortable--and they weren't all with the abuser. They were just moments where I was aware that I was uncomfortable and that the scene was unusual from what I viewed to be the norm.  

Even though I've been angry. Even though I am outspoken. I won't push my parents too hard. I have to accept them with their limitations even if I don't like it. I have to accomodate them. See, I swallow this. Everything you write seems to be a part of me.