Taking Up Space

I am afraid of taking up space.  I am afraid to breathe too much air. I like being small.  I would really like to be invisible.  Or at least almost invisible.  Insubstantial.  Is this what lies behind my insane relationship with ED – this drive to be teeny?  To remain unseen? Is it all about ED, or is there more to the sordid story.
You know ED, right?  ED, my roommate.  ED, my constant companion.  Who whispers in my ear, telling me I’ve had enough food.  Too much food.  Need to get rid of that food.  And I listen.  To the whispers.  Because I want to get to that magical point of being so small that no one will be able to see me any more.  So small that I don’t need.  So small that no one notices me…and if they don’t notice me, they can’t judge me.  Or reject me.  I want to be walking bones.  Bones that never inconvenience anyone or disrupt so much as a particle of dust or a tiny atom in my universe.
ED likes my goal, to be smaller than small.  To take up so little space, I’m almost a black hole.  He APPROVES! I bask in his approval.
I get horribly hungry.  And then I eat.  ED laughs because he knows; he knows.  He knows that no sooner do I consume everything I can get my hands on, I’m going to be running to the bathroom as fast as can be, bowing to the toilet, expelling every last drop that I can possible expel.  Working hard at it.  Getting everything OUT.  Until I’m starving again and fighting not to give in to my hunger.
Have to get it all OUT.  Get it back to right, to normal, to empty.  Then everything is good again. Then ED is happy.
If only it lasted longer…everything being okay.  If only I could be happy too.
So yeah, ED laughs.  He watches and roars with raucous laughter.  I don’t. Laugh.  At all.  I lean against the wall, weak, weary, confused, wondering how I got tricked into being in this place again.  And I ponder my life.  The fact that I don’t have one.  I lean against the wall with the heaviness of it all.  Trying to shake off the weight.  Trying to flush it. Trying to find some sense in the ritual, but there is no making sense of it.  I am a slave, unable to break free.  My only hope of escape is to keep getting smaller.  To take up less space.  Until I am nothing but dust.  Until my bones don’t walk any more.
My life is consumed with not consuming.  Every second of every day is occupied with concern that I am not small enough, that I might gain a pound, that I put a little too much fat-free sugar-free creamer in my coffee, so I’m going to have to compensate by not eating 2 of the 10 low-cal crackers I allow myself to eat during the day. It is all strictly regulated…my allowed intake.  ED watches.  He checks, calculates, balances.  It’s a delicate line.  A fine line.  A thin line.  Thin.  Nearly invisible.  Everything, it would seem, is about being thin and invisible.
And about not needing.  Because needing is painful.  Because needs create chasms that can never be filled.  Emptiness.  I am all about emptiness.  On so many levels.  In so many ways.  I am not yet able to map the intricacies of all the routes emptiness has taken through my brain.  All of the paths it has carved in my soul.  I only know my stomach must echo the  bareness of my existence.  It must remain hungry.  Unfilled.  Because that is my lot in life.  I will never matter.  To anyone.  Not really. 
There is only one way for me to have value.  Worth.  Love is out of the question.  For it is evident now that there is no path that leads to love…not for me.  The most I can hope for is to have some kind of value…to at least be worth enough to be deemed human.  My only value lies in my smallness.  It is only when I become nothing that I am something. 
And that is the most cruel joke of all.  To have value, I cannot have weight.  ED is laughing hysterically.  He loves a good joke.

6 thoughts on “Taking Up Space”

  1. I know this place you’re in. I was there for almost 20 years before Jesus came crashing into my pit of hopelessness and freed me. I know the vicious cycle. I know the desperation. I know the trap that feels permanent. I promise you ED is a liar and his whole goal is to take you out.

    I pray that everything that binds you will lose its grip and that the light of God pours into the darkness and expands that space in your mind that wonders if you might be worthy. YOU are precious and are worthy of the highest love.

    You’ve just veered off track and you’re finding your way back. Don’t ever give up. Don’t ever agree with ED about who you are. Borrow on my healing – it is for you, too.

    Hugs to you, sister. I’m praying for you.

    1. I truly appreciate your prayers. I became a Christian when I was 24 and I have been searching for healing ever since. For the last 15 years, I have been working very hard doing everything I possibly could to pursue that healing. Unfortunately, it hasn’t happened for me…at least not yet…and that has become a poison dagger in my heart. Knowing others pray for me…it really does touch me. And I’m grateful. Because if there is any hope at all, it is that somehow God will break through all the brokenness and put me back together. He knows I can’t do it myself. I’ve tried. I am just so very tired of trying and not seeing any progress. And I am getting old. Which makes it harder to keep going. Thanks for praying and caring. From my heart.

      1. I will always hold you up in my prayers. I know how hard it is to try and try. Your healing is coming and you will have enormous compassion to share with others (as you already have). Please feel free to email me. If I can be of any additional support to you, please let me know. There were many things that worked together in concert for my healing. I would love to share them with you, if you think it would help.

        God is on your side and He’s already begun the work. Some wounds are so deep we can’t see what He’s doing.

        Standing with you, sister. You’re not alone.

  2. I feel your pain. I wish so desperately there was something that could help you feel accepting of yourself. I know it’s not enough to know I care about you but I do!!! {{{hugs}}} Fern

    1. You continue to be such a wonderful source of encouragement and acceptance. You are a blessing in my life! I know you have many challenges yourself, so it means more than I can say that you take the time to care about me. ❤

      1. You write exceptionally well about the darkness of depression. I think I really know your pain and isolation; my heart and soul has felt similarly broken. No matter what I try deep inside there is an empty hole which I try to fill or ignore. Some days are better than others.

        I don’t follow very many blogs and yours is one of only a few that I love to read. Your writing touches me deeply. Really! ❤ (That must be a heart!)

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