Escape

The world is a bright, beautiful place when your head's not in a toilet bowl. That may not be the most delicate way to put it, but frankly, it's my reality. For years - fourteen of them - I was too caught up in escapist behaviors to recognize the simple but brilliant magic of life.

An eating disorder, similar to chemical dependency and even OCD, is an extreme example of avoidance. Life is messy sometimes, it hurts, it's imperfect, people can be mean, they will let you down, you will be disappointed and heartbroken and lonely. Retreating to the perceived safety of a compulsive disease gives the illusion of avoiding the trials of reality. To quote a mantra I used to repeat to myself daily, "Hunger is better than pain." The most obvious drawback to this attempted dodge is the physical one: eating disorders and addictions can, and if left untreated will, kill you. End of story, no postscript. A more subtle consequence is an emotional one. While you may succeed in blocking those unpleasant emotions, you also succeed mightily at blocking the good ones too.

When I was sick, I was never happy. I never felt joy, passion, human connection, or even true empathy for others. I couldn't pick and choose the feelings I wanted to block; it was all or nothing. My existence was just that: a constant cycle of chemical and biological reactions that (mercifully) allowed my heart to keep beating day after day.

I think there are many examples of this self-numbing behavior beyond the extremes of addiction, as well. I know friends who intentionally lose themselves for hours on websites, reality TV shows, and in books just to "get away" in their minds. For however brief a period of time, fantasy - or even good old fashioned mental blankess - seems better than real life. Who's to say that type of mellowed-out escapism is bad? I love a good book and a comfy couch as much as the next girl. It's when the escape begins to intrude on life that a problem exists. "Go away, kids, Mom is reading." "Not tonight, Honey, my show is on." "I can't go out, Jane, I'm trolling Pinterest." Translation: "I don't want to risk the potential frustration and disappointment of human interaction when I can zone out on my own."

There's something interesting I'm learning right now. The very messy nature of life that so terrified me before is exactly what makes it worth living now. What fun would a roller coaster be if it was just a straight track? The ups and downs, the twists and turns, the inverted stomach-emptying drops, are what keep us coming back for more. The disappointments in life have allowed me to be grateful when things do work out. The heartbreak I've felt allows me to cherish the love I have in my life. The frustrations - many and seemingly never-ending - give me a chance to better myself.

I don't want to escape life anymore. I want to live it. We only get this one shot - why spend it playing Solitaire?

Hurt People Hurt People

I'm doing a lot of work in therapy right now to place accountability where it belongs. Specifically, to stop blaming myself for the violence I have endured, and to place blame where it should be (on the perpetrators). I was told that in order to heal, I had to get angry. I disagree.

I have this notion that compassion is more powerful than anger. That maybe, just maybe, peace can be found by forgiving rather than condemning.

I spent years - more than half my life, in fact - punishing myself for things that happened to me as a child. I believed, as sure as I believed the sky was blue, that I was responsible for what happened to me. If I wasn't so inherently bad, so contaminated at a cellular level, I could have avoided all the pain. I recognize now how wrong I was. I was a child, innocent by definition. I had no control over the things that befell me. I was as pure as any other child. God does not make mistakes, and it was a bit presumptuous of me to assume that He made one with me. Starving myself, eating copious amounts and then throwing up, cutting and bruising myself... rather than paying retribution, I was merely revictimizing myself.

I did not decide to be violated. That choice was made for me. I had no say. The popular belief is that in order to heal, I must get angry at the people who made those choices for me. Instead, I am choosing to have empathy.

Make no mistake, I still decry the actions whole-heartedly. Perhaps the most powerful gift bestowed upon human beings is that of free agency. We have the power to choose our actions. The people who hurt me made their choices, knowing, I believe, that there were less violent alternatives. They must be held accountable.

However, I choose to look at myself: a desperately pained, wildly confused girl who did the only thing that made sense - I hurt myself. Perhaps my perpetrators did the same thing. Felt their pain, and lashed out. Look at that old example: "Dad hits Mom, Mom hits Johnny, Johnny kicks the dog." If a person has no awareness of constructive coping mechanisms, that person can only act in survival mode. Sometimes that survival takes the shape of hurting someone else in order to alleviate their own hurt.

Somehow this understanding brings me peace. I am able to think to myself, "I did no wrong. That person did wrong, and it was a choice he made based on his own damage, his own story. I am sad, and I am angry that I was the recipient of the rage, but I forgive."

There is a quote thrown around frequently that I think is quite profound. "Be kind; everyone you meet is fighting their own battle." Think of someone who has hurt you and consider this idea. It doesn't excuse their actions, but it may free you from your suffering, as it is freeing me from mine.