Special.
"Individual, particular; distinguished by some unusual quality; being in some way superior; held in particular esteem; readily distinguishable from others of the same category; being other than the usual; designed for a particular purpose or occasion."
That's Webster's definition, well, the shortened version at least. This idea of being "special" keeps coming back to me. How I desire to be special, to be--as Webster's says-- "distinguished" from others. I want to know who I am and why I am inportant. I know God says I'm important and I know He loves me, yet I still feel sadly unsatisfied by that. I feel a deep need to set myself apart--to prove my uniquenss , my specialness, my worth.
I feel this is a big piece of my overall struggle. Why I starve and purge and cut. Wendy says I crave attention, that my cutting and all these crazy behaviors are seeking attention. I've hated that idea, fought against it in my head. Felt that it came out of self-hatred, out of the pain I'm dealing with. But I know that on some level it is true. I crave attention. I want so badly to know that I'm special. That I have an identity all my own.
"Hi, I'm Jessica, and I'm broken. Please love me."
That's what my wounds, scars, and thin body say. That's what my depressive mood, self-deprecating statments, and medications say. I hang them out there or reveal them at strategic times to snare someone.
"This is who I am. This is my identity."
It stirs the emmotions and then people feel connected to me, somehow they see my humanity. But I need to allow people to see my humanity and God's incredible love for me in spite of it, without needing to seek attention in unhealthy ways. And I need to find my identity and be content in it wihtout using unhealthy means.
Wendy called me last night while I was thinking on all of this. She is so full of wisdom and insight it is just unbelievable! God used her to open my eyes to two big things:
1. On Monday she gave me an assignment: No drama for one whole week. Just normal boring life. So, she was thinking about this and called me to say that it's not a matter of drama vs. boredom. It's about embracing contentment in my life no matter what is going on internally or externally.
2. Regarding my need to be special, she said this: "Spiritual maturity means getting to the point where I want everyone to be equally valuable." Huge! It's like God's not even interested in answering my whiny question about my "specialness". He's saying--Jessica, it's not all about you! I've been asking the wrong question and I've had the wrong perspective. But she also reminded me that it's okay to be where I am right now. It's okay to be in this place. This is the journey I'm on and I don't need to beat myself up over where I am or where I think I should be.
So, the question now isn't what makes me special from all the billions of people out there, the question is . . .
Father, how do I turn my life from being all about me, to being all about You?
30 June, 2005
29 June, 2005
Forgiveness of a Father
I was so angry at everyone this time last week. I had almost killed myslef--not that that was my goal--yet there I was in the hospital, in the intensive care unit, waiting to be 302'd (involuntarily committed) to Norristown State Hospital. Seems I was a danger to myself. It would take me two or three days to realize that I was.
But this time last week, it was the Dr.'s fault, my sister's fault, my dad's fault . . . All I had done was take a few pills and cut my arms. And according to me, that was not worthy of being committed to the neighborhood mental institution. I was seething with anger, particularly at my dad, and left him a bitterly mean message on our answering machine. It was my sincerest hope to hurt him as much as possible with my words. The most hurtful thing I could think of to say, even though I knew before it even came out that there was no way I could actually follow through on it, was that I would never forgive him for letting this happen to me.
As I lay crying myself to sleep after leaving the message, I knew my words were a sham. I wanted to be angry so I did my best to hold onto it, but my heart knew how much I loved my dad and how much he loved me. That night my parents and Wendy came to visit me and I waited eagerly for them--peeking out the tiny windows of the main door to see if they were in the waiting room yet. All of my anger had dissipated and I was just glad to see them, to not feel so alone. The moment my dad walked throught the door I wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. He held me tightly too and I knew he was crying. I told him how sorry I was for what I had said and he just said "I know" and told me how much he loved me.
Forgiveness. Acceptance. What honey-sweet words. All had been forgotten except for my dad's immeasurable love for me. This brings an incredible truth to my attention (thanks Wendy!). God, my Father, looks on me the same way. All is forgotten except for His immeasurable love for me. It is as far as the east is from the west.
"I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with unfailing kindness.
I will build you up again, and you, Virgin Israel, will be rebuilt." Jeremiah 31: 3-4
But this time last week, it was the Dr.'s fault, my sister's fault, my dad's fault . . . All I had done was take a few pills and cut my arms. And according to me, that was not worthy of being committed to the neighborhood mental institution. I was seething with anger, particularly at my dad, and left him a bitterly mean message on our answering machine. It was my sincerest hope to hurt him as much as possible with my words. The most hurtful thing I could think of to say, even though I knew before it even came out that there was no way I could actually follow through on it, was that I would never forgive him for letting this happen to me.
As I lay crying myself to sleep after leaving the message, I knew my words were a sham. I wanted to be angry so I did my best to hold onto it, but my heart knew how much I loved my dad and how much he loved me. That night my parents and Wendy came to visit me and I waited eagerly for them--peeking out the tiny windows of the main door to see if they were in the waiting room yet. All of my anger had dissipated and I was just glad to see them, to not feel so alone. The moment my dad walked throught the door I wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. He held me tightly too and I knew he was crying. I told him how sorry I was for what I had said and he just said "I know" and told me how much he loved me.
Forgiveness. Acceptance. What honey-sweet words. All had been forgotten except for my dad's immeasurable love for me. This brings an incredible truth to my attention (thanks Wendy!). God, my Father, looks on me the same way. All is forgotten except for His immeasurable love for me. It is as far as the east is from the west.
"I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with unfailing kindness.
I will build you up again, and you, Virgin Israel, will be rebuilt." Jeremiah 31: 3-4
18 June, 2005
Small Victories
So many defeats it seems like. I walk through so many of my days in a mechanical fashion. Skip breakfast. Decent lunch. Go home and totally loose control. My MD is really proud of me though. Last time I saw her, she said that I looked better (physically and emotionally) than she had ever seen me. Of course, as soon as she said it, the old voices in my head started their chants and I began to beat myself up.
"I'm not any better. I obviously have her fooled."
"What is she thinking? I'm still binging, purging, restricting, and cutting!"
"I'll never get out of this. I may get a little bit better, but I'll never be free."
"My family would be so disappointed in me if they knew that I wasn't better yet. What a waste of time and money Remuda was. I am such a horrible person and a horrible daughter."
"I'm not worth all of the trouble everyone has put into me. I can't ever let anyone know that I still struggle. Or they too will realize that all the money spent was a waste. And then they'll realize I really am worthless."
Oh yes, how I love to beat myself up. It's so much easier than keeping hope. If I listen to my fears and all the negative things I believe about myself, than at least I won't be disappointed. I'll know I'm a failure and a terrible person and I won't expect anything more. The trouble is, deep in the heart of me, I know these things aren't true. The Holy Spirit lovingly tells me that they aren't true. But in the face of my addictions, my compulsions, and my fears, it is so hard to believe the truth over the lies. It is so hard to even see the truth over the lies.
The truth is that I'm not a failure. My MD was right--I am getting better. It is slow and I often take steps backwards, but I am getting better. My brother reminded me a few weeks back--when I was in the midst of a crisis and afraid I was going to slip totally off the edge of the cliff--that I have to recognize the small victrories I experience every day. Or maybe just every month. Who knows, whenever they come, I have to recognize and celebrate them.
"I'm not any better. I obviously have her fooled."
"What is she thinking? I'm still binging, purging, restricting, and cutting!"
"I'll never get out of this. I may get a little bit better, but I'll never be free."
"My family would be so disappointed in me if they knew that I wasn't better yet. What a waste of time and money Remuda was. I am such a horrible person and a horrible daughter."
"I'm not worth all of the trouble everyone has put into me. I can't ever let anyone know that I still struggle. Or they too will realize that all the money spent was a waste. And then they'll realize I really am worthless."
Oh yes, how I love to beat myself up. It's so much easier than keeping hope. If I listen to my fears and all the negative things I believe about myself, than at least I won't be disappointed. I'll know I'm a failure and a terrible person and I won't expect anything more. The trouble is, deep in the heart of me, I know these things aren't true. The Holy Spirit lovingly tells me that they aren't true. But in the face of my addictions, my compulsions, and my fears, it is so hard to believe the truth over the lies. It is so hard to even see the truth over the lies.
The truth is that I'm not a failure. My MD was right--I am getting better. It is slow and I often take steps backwards, but I am getting better. My brother reminded me a few weeks back--when I was in the midst of a crisis and afraid I was going to slip totally off the edge of the cliff--that I have to recognize the small victrories I experience every day. Or maybe just every month. Who knows, whenever they come, I have to recognize and celebrate them.
16 June, 2005
Summer
Stretching before me are days full of possibilities--a summer full of traveling, relaxing, lots of time with my sister and niece, reading, and picking up a new sport (kayaking). An entire summer to spend doing all the things I miss when I am busy working full time. But also, a summer full of empty days.
Eating disorders present themselves in so many different ways, and each woman's struggle is individual. For me, I am both an anorexic and a bulimic. In short, I am literally addicted to food like an alcoholic or drug addict, so I eat compulsively and fight desperately for control. Along with this, though, I have an intense fear of gaining weight and being out of control. So when my compulsive eating (binging) gets too out of control, I freak out and just stop eating because I think that's the only way I'll be able to stop the binging. It is very hard for someone who doesn't struggle with this to understand it, but I am literally terrified of food and addicted to it all the same.
And here is the most horrific part. An alcoholic can stay out of bars. A drug addict can stay away from the neighborhoods where they bought their drugs. A sex addict can keep pornography out of their home and put strict filters on their computers. But I am forced to be surrounded by food everywhere I go, in everything I do. Even my home is not safe--it is packed with it.
My friends and my family are dear to me, I want to and need to spend time with them. But their houses are filled with food too. We could go out somewhere--a movie. No, popcorn, nachos, candy. How about going out for dinner? Yeah, that's helpful. What about a bar? Nope, fries, chips, nachos, wings. Maybe that is why I am in love with the outdoors so much, it is the only place I can escape my curse.
So, while I face the prospects of a wonderful summer full of the most precious of all commodities--time--that is exactly what terrifies me. Empty time to sit in my house full of food, or my sister's house full of food. Or go to my friend's house full of food. Or my church where they have free food.
Oh, God help me.
Eating disorders present themselves in so many different ways, and each woman's struggle is individual. For me, I am both an anorexic and a bulimic. In short, I am literally addicted to food like an alcoholic or drug addict, so I eat compulsively and fight desperately for control. Along with this, though, I have an intense fear of gaining weight and being out of control. So when my compulsive eating (binging) gets too out of control, I freak out and just stop eating because I think that's the only way I'll be able to stop the binging. It is very hard for someone who doesn't struggle with this to understand it, but I am literally terrified of food and addicted to it all the same.
And here is the most horrific part. An alcoholic can stay out of bars. A drug addict can stay away from the neighborhoods where they bought their drugs. A sex addict can keep pornography out of their home and put strict filters on their computers. But I am forced to be surrounded by food everywhere I go, in everything I do. Even my home is not safe--it is packed with it.
My friends and my family are dear to me, I want to and need to spend time with them. But their houses are filled with food too. We could go out somewhere--a movie. No, popcorn, nachos, candy. How about going out for dinner? Yeah, that's helpful. What about a bar? Nope, fries, chips, nachos, wings. Maybe that is why I am in love with the outdoors so much, it is the only place I can escape my curse.
So, while I face the prospects of a wonderful summer full of the most precious of all commodities--time--that is exactly what terrifies me. Empty time to sit in my house full of food, or my sister's house full of food. Or go to my friend's house full of food. Or my church where they have free food.
Oh, God help me.
14 June, 2005
Star Wars: Revenge of Bad Decisions
A few weeks back my friends and I went to see the new Star Wars movie (Revenge of the Sith) and afterwards we got into an unlikely conversation about the human condition. In thinking about Anikan and how he "evolved" into Darth Vadar, we wondered whether a person can ever reach a place where they have become so hurt and beaten down by the world and their own poor choices that they are too far gone and literally can't fight their way out.
My two friends argued back and forth about it, and I sat listening quietly. I know--unusual for me. I'm usually in the thick of any heated discussion, but this time, I was reflecting on my own life in the quiet of my heart.
Am I too far gone? Is there any hope for me? Is there a way out of this? Quite often I don't feel like there is--it seems hopeless. But I realize that that is the lie satan wants me to believe. If he can get me to believe that my situation is hopeless--that I'll never be free of this eating disorder--then I'll stop fighting and he will have won. But I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that there is hope. I know because I understand God's grace. I know because God tells me in His word that I "can never be plucked out of his hand". I know because I've seen other women find the freedom that I so desire. I know because God tells us that the power that raised Christ from the dead is the SAME power that is at work in me through the Holy Spirit.
And this is where I come back to the process. The slow process of healing and change. It happens so slowly that I become discouraged and don't even recognize it--but it's there.
Something else I reflected on as I sat in the car listening to my friends' debate: Choice. When a person gets into a situation like me or some other type of life-draining addiction, how much of it was their choice and how much was due to life beating them down over and over? Again, my friends were debating this back and forth. My best friend's father fought a lifelong battle against mental illness, drugs, and painkillers--he never found victory. He died in his addiction. So, she fought passionately for the "beaten down by life" side. I wasn't entirely persuaded by her arguments. I realized that each of us has choices to make. Like my friend's father, there was a point in my life where I slowly started making really bad choices. Back then, when I still had control, when I wasn't totally into my eating disorder, I needed to make the right choices. But I didn't. And that's how I got to be where I am.
My two friends argued back and forth about it, and I sat listening quietly. I know--unusual for me. I'm usually in the thick of any heated discussion, but this time, I was reflecting on my own life in the quiet of my heart.
Am I too far gone? Is there any hope for me? Is there a way out of this? Quite often I don't feel like there is--it seems hopeless. But I realize that that is the lie satan wants me to believe. If he can get me to believe that my situation is hopeless--that I'll never be free of this eating disorder--then I'll stop fighting and he will have won. But I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that there is hope. I know because I understand God's grace. I know because God tells me in His word that I "can never be plucked out of his hand". I know because I've seen other women find the freedom that I so desire. I know because God tells us that the power that raised Christ from the dead is the SAME power that is at work in me through the Holy Spirit.
And this is where I come back to the process. The slow process of healing and change. It happens so slowly that I become discouraged and don't even recognize it--but it's there.
Something else I reflected on as I sat in the car listening to my friends' debate: Choice. When a person gets into a situation like me or some other type of life-draining addiction, how much of it was their choice and how much was due to life beating them down over and over? Again, my friends were debating this back and forth. My best friend's father fought a lifelong battle against mental illness, drugs, and painkillers--he never found victory. He died in his addiction. So, she fought passionately for the "beaten down by life" side. I wasn't entirely persuaded by her arguments. I realized that each of us has choices to make. Like my friend's father, there was a point in my life where I slowly started making really bad choices. Back then, when I still had control, when I wasn't totally into my eating disorder, I needed to make the right choices. But I didn't. And that's how I got to be where I am.
13 June, 2005
Welcome to my life
I find it amazing how I get any joy out of life. I realize that sounds terribly depressing, but nonetheless, it is true. I find so much joy in living: my family, the beauty that exist all around me in nature, friends who would give their right arm for me, my relationship with God . . . Yet there is a shadow that hangs over me most of the time. I love how Over the Rhine puts it in "Latter Days"
"There is a me you would not recognize. I call it the shadow of myself."
I suppose in many ways that is how I experience my life. There is a part of me that I allow very few to see or know, and then there is the Jessica--bright and smiling--who the world sees.
My writing here is an attempt to change that. I don't know how to let others into my world--into my battle--but I want to try. So read, learn, listen, and then love. I need grace, I need love, and I need acceptance.
I also write out of hope that others who are fighting their own battles with an eating disorder, or who love someone who is, will read and be encouraged.
I've learned that I can't get to the top of the mountain as fast as I'd like to and as fast as those who love me would like me to. So, I invite you--whether you know me or not--come along on my journey, and see the beauty along the way.
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