I'm not eager to be at this point in my blog. This is another one that I have agonized over for days before posting. This is another one that makes me squirm and makes me feel like I could throw up all at the same time, so be patient with me please!
When I was 19 my parents had been through some counseling with a very dear woman. My mom one day told me to take her appointment to share something that she felt was important knowledge to this woman. I agreed and a wonderful counseling relationship began. I loved (and still do, very much!) this woman. She validated me. She explained me to myself when I couldn't understand why I behaved the way I did. She started and ended each session with prayer. I dreaded and looked forward to my weekly sessions with her so much that I was a pile of nerves each day I had an appointment.
At some point in our sessions, near the time of "accountability" and "my cry for help" we started discussing my intense aversion to all things food. I was suddenly unbelievably uncomfortable talking about food. I cannot even express how uncomfortable I was but it was more so than any other thing we had talked about. She helped me to this realization that I really did NOT like.
When I was younger, during the abuse years, I, like most people, had physical symptoms of emotional hurts. Not only did I feel afraid and dirty, I always had a stomach ache afterward. I always felt, for the lack of a better word, full. Not just full, but- like you ate at a smorgasbord and couldn't consume one more bite or you would surely explode- kind of full. Simply put, that was the only way in my young brain I could physically describe the yuckiness that I felt.
Now fast forward several years to the 19 yr old me. I DESPISED feeling full and could never understand why until this day. I just thought it was because for years I had not eaten properly and was not used to feeling full. I cried for the rest of the day. I was supposed to lead one of the break off groups at our Bible Study that night. I couldn't pull myself together enough to do it. I cried. I cried some more. I wept. I sobbed. I couldn't talk, I couldn't eat, I couldn't even drink. All I could do was cry and ache. I sat with my knees pulled tightly into my chest and I didn't say a word. People asked if I was ok, I couldn't answer. I wasn't and I didn't know how to make it ok. I didn't know if I'd ever feel ok again in my life at that point.
I was certain, with this newly realized pain, that I could never eat and feel full ever again. It would just hurt too much. As I thought about food and how I felt when I ate, I was bombarded with very graphic and painful memories. I knew that I could never be whole, that I could never feel full without hurting, that I would never be able to run far enough away from those nightmares. I knew that for my entire life I would remain slave to the thing I thought that moving far away from had saved me from. I was forever broken and could not be mended.
I was wrong. God somehow carried me through that night and through the next several days at work where I was simply going through the motions and in a huge depression. I wasn't eating and I knew why I wasn't eating and I didn't want to feel it. I tried to be numb again, it had once been easy but now was nearly impossible. I didn't attempt to kill myself again at this point but I dreamed of the relief that death would bring. I dwelled on thoughts of ending my pain but for some reason, this time it was only a dream not an attempted reality. Once again I was so consumed with hurt that I could barely breathe.
God so graciously carried me through. I don't even pretend to know how. I went through the motions for some time. Work, church, Bible Study, out to eat after Bible Study and then back to work at one of my 3 jobs. I functioned, kind of, but I didn't live. I truly didn't think I could ever eat enough to be full without severe emotional whiplash. The next months were less than pretty as I struggled to find worth, to find healing, and to (unsuccessfully) forget the extreme memories that now plagued not only my sleep but my waking hours as well.