stop talking about my weight

Sorry, my blog’s (or, blogs’) been a deserted place.

So, it’s the Chinese New Year…a season where you do nothing but add on to the waistline. Boohoo. I don’t know whether I should be glad that Hera’s food diary assignment starts right after CNY for 1.5 months. I’m sooo ready to start restricting again.

=.=”

I hate it when you see your relatives once a year, and the first comment that you almost always get is “Oh you’ve lost/gained weight!” Golly, I swear I was about to scream at those comments! Yes, I’m beginning to hate it even when they say that I’ve lost weight. I cringed when two of my aunts started saying how I’ve “grown” up because I’ve learned to slim down, and started asking me how did I do it.

I’m sure it showed in my body language, and you know what – I don’t freaking care. I grew up listening to all those weight-related comments year in year out. I’m simply traumatized and need a break. Hell, you can’t lose weight because you don’t control. Get it? How can you lose weight when you keep eating and drinking (alcohol)?

Oh, the control monster. I don’t even want to introduce ED to anyone. I don’t see the point in tell people how I lose weight. It’s my secret. It makes me unique. If I share them with you, they don’t belong to me anymore.

Sometimes I really want to say

Mind your own weight.

I realized how far I’ve got to go to finally love myself.

Not just about self-esteem. Even physical acts.

I try to ignore how fat I think my body looks…I hope it’s working.

Yesterday just before talking to my supervisor, I rubbed (okay, I scratched) my nose and damn it bled. When I felt the blood inside my nostrils flowing, my mind went bonkers. Not here, please. Not in front of my supervisor. Not when I’m just about to discuss my thesis. Not when I have to pass through so many people in the office.

Of course, I was ignored.

My supervisor’s face cringed, perhaps seeing the blood dripping as I helplessly tried to cover it with my hands. Thank God it was just for a short while – I rushed to the toilet with my friends staring with horror. By the time I got to the sink, my mouth was covered with “red ink”. Thank God I wore a dark brown blouse for defense.

I have another problem – I pick on my scabs. I hate it when my wounds heal, and I would pick on it.

And you know what – I never believed that I was self-harming. This goes to show how deceptive all these are. I finally confided with one of my lecturers. At least, I’m not keeping this to myself anymore.

Sigh, I really REALLY need to stop this. =S

Jesus loves me this I know

“…yes, Jesus loves me.
yes, Jesus loves me.
Yes, Jesus loves me.
For the Bible tells me so.”

For some reasons, this has been my favorite song of all time. Forget that it’s a children song – deep within me I knew that it holds such power. But I could never really believe it. And hence, I had never lived in the power that Jesus loves me.

Where is the childlike faith that believes in the love of Christ simply “for the bible tells me so?” Why do we always have to question that simply because of circumstances? Why do we allow abuse or mistreatment by others to take away that simple truth? Why? Why have we come to believe that we are so bad that we don’t deserve to be loved?

I was challenged by one of the lecturers in the faculty to do the empty chair technique (part of Gestalt therapy) on myself. I improvised a little – and took out a cuddly lil girl’s photo of myself, and sang my favorite song over the little girl. And this time, I meant it. I sang it meaning to tell the little girl that Jesus loves her.

It finally started to sink.

What has that little girl done to be rejected? What has she done to be (psychologically and verbally) abused? What has she done to be cast aside?

Nothing.

It wasn’t the little girl’s fault. It was the abusers’ fault.

That little girl deserved to be cuddled, kissed, and stroked. She deserved to be told that she is precious. She deserved the best. And it wasn’t her fault that she hadn’t gotten any.

That same lecturer told me something profound – nobody can reject you if you will now choose to accept yourself. Accept that little girl. I can choose to cuddle and stroke her – metaphorically.

And with that, the little girl in the photo is no longer someone else.

I accepted the little girl as me. I bawled, I teared…but this exercise was just so powerful.

I can be independent. I can grow. And I deserve the best.

Because Jesus loves me this I know.

I have a confession.

I’ve been a “glutton” this semester more than ever.

Of course, I feel guilty. But deep inside, I couldn’t help feeling glad that I’m not so enslaved by food as I was. And with little concentration.

Yes, I don’t really care about how little I eat anymore. And “magically”, I start increasing my food intake because I do not really think about restricting thereafter.

I think some parts of it happen quite naturally.

Like in my first semester as a freshman, I was controlling so much it was actually grueling. I didn’t know how I did it, but I could afford to have just an apple for dinner, or a small packet of cereal with hot water. Or two pieces of bread. On “good” days, I had a piece of bread with sausage for dinner. Then I started skipping breakfast. By the time I went home for my holidays, I was only able to consume one full meal a day.

Then as I began to release some of my pent-up emotions through therapy, I gradually lost more and more of the control. I started to take some oats for dinner, though I would still skip breakfast. I would buy some snacks. I increased one more piece of bread with my sausage.

Progress was small, but quite visible. But when I started to focus on my disordered eating, I sometimes tend to go back to full restricting again. That is when I realized that I should just stop focusing on what I should or should not eat.

This semester has been crazy. I still took my dinner and breakfast before and after a McValue meal. This used to be a huge no-no, and I do feel guilty about it. I would promise myself that I will restrict that night but sometimes I don’t follow through. I felt like I’ve broken some of my own rules, and am still trying to swallow the guilt. But I supposed that’s how recovery is like.

Emotionally and psychologically, I’m much healthier. I no longer feel so out of control as I had used to. Hence, I supposed the need to control my food and body does lessen. This proves that eating disorders transcend beyond pure body image issues – it’s about control. Of course, to properly heal I will still have to change my (in DrA’s words) “crappy thoughts about my body”. Body image is still a big thing for me.

But I believe that it’s safe to momentarily take away my focus from disordered eating, onto something that is more urgent. Nobody knows how next friday’s therapy is going to turn out, and I’m honestly scared. Still learning to take one thing at a time.

And I know, that I’ll make it…some day…

I was talking with Ms Matilda the new abnormal psychology lecturer on Friday (I sat in the class to “pat” :P) and found out that she’s got some experiences helping people with eating disorders. Discovering my “predicament”, she immediately got me to sit down and we spent the next 1.5 hours just talking.

At one point, I told her that I’ve been avoiding going for camps because of the food part. I can’t control myself especially if it’s buffet, and so I would rather not go at all. When she challenged me with the question of why would I not think of camps as a time to bond and make friends, I couldn’t answer. Food has become a priority.

Food aside, I’ve been doing well. Even with the possibility of PTSD looming over me and the fact that the next few sessions of therapy are going to be tough, I’m relieved that I can finally look forward to leaving this once and for all. My pastors are happy to see how vibrant I have become, and this time I’m genuine. I’m not putting on a “happy mask” – I do feel joyful for the first time in my life. I know that God will continue to be faithful.

To think that I deserve so much more than I thought is mind-boggling. Love, respect, acceptance, dignity, health, wholeness…do I deserve all of these?

On another note, I just got news that one of my favorite teachers in secondary school had lost her battle to cancer. You see, school was traumatizing but it was teachers like her that made a difference in my life. They had accepted me for who I am, despite knowing that many of my classmates were not too happy with it. They didn’t care about how fat I was, how awkward I was, or how unpopular I was. She had treated me with dignity. My only regret, was that I hadn’t taken the opportunity to talk to her when I went back to school. I wished I had.

Lastly, I might take a break from food-blogging. I’ll still blog about my issues with “recovery”, but since DrA had decided to put these issues on hold, I’ve decided to put it aside as well and focus on the more urgent issue at hand. Hopefully, when that gets resolved, my food issues will settle down on its own…

Sometimes, I just had to stop and ask myself,

“So what does recovery means to me?”

The polarized side of me says that there’s nothing to recover from because I don’t have a full-blown ED, but then the rational side argues that I won’t want to wait until then to do something about it. Granted, I hate recovery. Who doesn’t? I hate forcing myself to eat, I hate listening to my hunger pangs, I hate feeling like my body deserves nourishment.

Everytime I made a (half-hearted) commitment to “recover”, I always expect myself to fail. And when it does happen like always, I’ll start bashing myself up. It never ends.

I tell myself that I deserve it when people give up on me, I deserve to be sick, I deserve to be hated. That I don’t deserve respect, don’t deserve health, don’t deserve abundance.

Sometimes I wished that I can have the same amount of respect for my body (and myself) as I have for my nails. You see, I grew up having people (including mum) saying that my nails were the prettiest ever. And even though I hated my body, I still love my nails and will treat it well with colorful coats. Of course, Mum would then wish that “your body is as beautiful as your nails”.

I know that it goes way beyond body image. It’s all about pent-up anger, and frustrated emotions. But what if I don’t get to deal with them?

There’s always this ambivalence within me – I needed the support of others, and yet I’m pushing them away because I don’t think that I deserve it. Hence, it translates into “attention-seeking”.

Truth is, I’m more frustrated with myself than people think I am.

The one thing that is probably going to remain highlight for the rest of my holidays here, besides turning 23, is m health issues.

i had never really imagined my platelets drama to resurface, nor did I expect to go back to the hospital or go for more than the first visit. In fact, I must say that Dr Loh did the most thorough medical exam that Ive ever had – from checking from my hair to my feet, internal organs, hitting and pressing on my abdomen, and looking at where my bruises lie. He knew that I haven’t been eating well, and he wanted to make sure on that as well. To be honest I can’t remember when w the last time I saw a doctor for a cold or fever, and so I hadn’t have a stethoscope used on me for ages.

A day before I’m due to return to KL, I have to go back to the hospital (and hopefully see Dr Loh again) to see if my first round of tests gives me the green light to leave. If not, in Dr Loh’s words, he’ll have to have “a serious discussion” with me. Though my bleeding aren’t serious, the fact that there is spontaneous bleeding is enough for concern to him. And so fingers crossed that I’ll be fine…or I might be hooked to a hospital in KL or get an extra 4 months break 🙂 What is sure is, what Dr Ismail (psychiatrist) predicted wasn’t near accurate – I had to do long term follow-up.

Today was the second day of the International Women’s Conference. Last night was hilarious when a long-time pastor-friend (whom I knew since I was a kid) – Ps Joyce Chow from Singapore asked me this question the moment she saw me (yes, she skipped the how-are-you question): When are you getting married?

She thinks that she’s just being random and naughty as usual. But she didn’t realize the impact of it. If you know me, you’ll know that one thing I’ve feared the most if intimacy. Hence, marriage is totally out of the question. I did manage to talk to Joyce about it this afternoon…it’s almost like God assuring me once again.

I also had a nice chat with my “Godma”, Ps Teresa Tay. I shared about my struggle with food, and without me telling, she knew that i’ve lost the strength to carry on. And then after leading me thru a prayer renouncing self-hatred, she went, “Stop calling yourself ugly duckling or big fat pig.” I looked at her, stunned. “How did you know that i call myself that?” (I should have known better. She is prophetic). “Oh, I can hear it. I can hear it.”

It was a good conference. In fact, the theme “Beautiful Women” should have warned me.

I deserved it

Recently, I’ve fallen in love with those personalized name necklaces.

I told Mum that I wanted one…which will be my first online purchase. Sigh, I do wish that I can make decisions without my mum. It was just the way we were brought up, always “playing safe”. One thing that annoys my friends is whenever I go shopping for clothes, I’ll have to call up Mum, describe the apparel as best as I can, and get her permission. They do force me to make my own decisions, so sometimes I do it behind their backs (in the fitting room). 😛

Even my sister has decision-making issues too. Whenever she wanted something slightly more costly, she would force my parents to say yes. Rather than just going ahead and buy it with her own money, she will force an answer from my parents, and throw a tantrum if they don’t agree. But she won’t buy it until they allowed.

Well, Mum didn’t object me getting the necklace. Few years ago buying accessories would be a nightmare because in mum’s concept, “fat girls shouldn’t wear nice stuff. It looks ugly on you.” I’m so, so proud of her – that even though I may still not be at the size that she prefers, she’s come a long way.

Lunch: beef curry with rice. Breakfast was nescafe with 2 pieces digestives

In fact, Mum insisted on buying it as my birthday gift.

Now I have another problem. Probably due to the years of not having my parents purchase the things that I want, I don’t think that I deserve it. I think I should buy it myself. I think Mum should save up for her needs instead of lavishing on me.

Well, this got Mum mad. And it honestly did surprise me.

Probably she wasn’t really mad, but disappointed. She just said that “I said I wanted to buy it for your birthday. If you don’t want I don’t know what to say…”

Gawd. My heart dropped.

dinner: 3 siu mais

Finally, I relented. I will let her pay for me. I realize that I should allow other people to love me and spoil me – and that includes Mum. I know that she might have felt the need to pay more attention to me to make up for the “lost days”. Of course, I won’t allow her to over-do it, but I do understand the need. If I don’t allow her to do that, Mum would be laden with guilt. Besides, I need to force myself to realize that I deserve it. I deserved to be spoilt (sometimes), I deserved to be loved, I deserved to be happy. And probably one of the worst things that I can do to my parents now is to not allow them to do what every parents to do for their children – pamper them.

There was once when I wanted to buy something and Dad paid. Later on when I wanted to pay him back, he got quite indignant as well.

It’s not easy for either of us, for very different reasons. There’s always like “OK Mum, you pay for me this time…I’ll buy one for your birthday.” I always feel like if someone gives me something, I have to give back.

It’s hard to admit it,

but I deserved it.