Be kind to you

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The beauty of blogging is in the freedom to write or not write. I have not been writing lately for no particular reason other than it just has not been the right time and I have not been in the right mindset. That said, my struggle to “be” continues. At times the fight is harder and in rare moments I am able to find some peace. I cherish those moments. Walks by the dunes, staring at the beach, the sky, the stars, drawing, designing, making clothes.

Then, there, I fell free, connected, one body, one soul. My physical appearance no longer matters. My bulging stomach becomes an insignificant worry and the XXL clothes? Well … just another thing of this world.

Since I last wrote, I have moved away from London, traveled to Africa and now back in the Netherlands. It has been a long long journey. I started a new job, a tedious, toxic one, but that was my choice. Now I need to work on getting out of it and finding something better. Living a well deserved life demands effort.

When I am not drained of energy, I motivate myself towards my freedom. Towards being the person that I really want to be. Although that remains undefined, I know aspects of what brings me peace within. Creativity being one of them. Self-expression, whether confronting a small conflict or asserting my ideas is another.

Since I have been denying myself of that right to “be”, it seems easier to give in and settle with the mistaken habits, of being someone else; until I realize, all I am doing is giving my power away to invisible influences. Quickly, I lose myself.

So, the struggle continues. I suspect, there is a high probability that  this will be a lifetime struggle. Though I hope, it will become easier with time.

I used to think that I needed a break from the World because it was so mean to me. Truth is, I was cruel to myself. Then I had another realization. There will always be bitter times, the trick is to live it. Feel it. I do not want to forget or escape anymore. It has not worked. Bingeing, over-exercising, starving, trying to be perfect has not worked. Self-torture has failed. Self-love is surely the answer.

I hope to have a little more of it today, tomorrow and in all the other days I have left on this earth.

This I write to you and myself, so we both remember to “be”.

izaotee

Frustration = Progress ?!?

These days I get frustrated at myself for all the self sabotage.

I am in Italy, on a course for specialists in my field. A honor one might say. It boosts my self-confidence a little to know that my potential is recognised for something. It is also an opportunity to make friends, to network. I do not know most of these people. I am trying, trying to make friends. But I seem to expect too much. They have all paired up now. Set new ground, have a buddy and stick to their buddy. They paired me with a room mate. Once again we don’t fit. We do not share the same interests. But it does not stop me from doing what I want what I like.  I am just a little disappointed regardless. I never get the social aspect right.

Eating in Italy is obviously a highlight of this trip. Eating is also my worst fear at the moment. I wish I could enjoy a freaking plate of pasta without fear. Fear of gaining the weight back, of becoming bulimic again if I ever let myself enjoy the taste.

My therapist worked up some courage in me on monday night and I went for dinner. It was a disaster.

My second dinner was around a table with friends I enjoyed talking to. I though I had built a close relation with them, but again I was disappointed when I saw them already paired up. Already set in their new friendships. I wasn’t. What is wrong with me that noone would want to pair up as a friend even for a few days. It saddens me.

I was sat next to an Italian girl, she ordered for me, I had grilled King Prawns, Zucchini and Aubergine. I guess the calories of the grilled prawns, didn’t finish it. But I was proud and happy for having sat through that dinner.

There were lies, many lies actually. I invented that I was allergic to Gluten so I can’t have too much bread or pasta and that I don’t drink. The not drinking is quite true. I gave it up because of my religion, but also because of the calorie content.

At least I had dinner that I did not cook, around a table with people that is a little victory in itself I think.

I walked home in the Siracusa wind, tired but somewhat proud.

This was the last time I had dinner with others during my trip. It became all too much.

First Overeaters Anonymous Meeting

Yesterday I went to my first ever OA meeting. I was a complete mess.

It was a rainy day, after strength training at the gym I had planned to attend an OA meeting I found online. Bus 24 which would take me there did not show up. But since getting to this meeting made me sacrifice running on the treadmill. My saturday had to be worthwhile. In the rain at 10 45 a.m I knocked on a black taxi’s window. I stepped in, stressed, irritated, pointed to the address and coldly asked the driver to take me there.

He said he knew the way, but in my stressed state, I was rude to him. I kept asking are you sure you know the way. The meeting was to start at 11 00 a m.

I called earlier and was told to come a few minutes before for some explanation. When I stepped in, two ladies was standing at the door. One with a cigarette in her hands. I cannot stand smokers anymore. My ex-boyfriend smoked and my Dad was a chain smoker. It killed him. Clearly annoyed at her smoke, I unconsciously waved my hands around to get the smoke out of my face. It was a rude gesture, but I was stressed. In hindsight, worried, scared about this meeting.

A tall Dutch woman, friendly and direct asked me about my past. I was a little shocked at how direct she was. But I guess, she is entitled to because you have to actually have a problem with food to be there. I started talking about my anorexia, the sentence was not even finished when I burst into tears. An abundance of emotions surface. I could not believe I was there. I felt pain, shame, fear but also pride and relief.

The woman reassured me that I was not alone in this anymore. As I peeked at the people in the room, I realised how even the most ordinary looking person was there too. Compulsive eating does not choose its prey. Young, not so young, women, men, tall, short, slim, not so slim. Food was our love and our enemy.

I cried all through the meeting. I am not giving up. I will step in there again next week. This time I’ll bring tissues.

I am not alone in this anymore. There are others out there. Together we are determined to recover, even if not completely at least to manage a little.