Eating Disorders and the Forbidden Food

I grew up with an eating disorder. It’s not that I wanted to be a super skinny creature after seeing too many anorexic models and movie stars. I didn’t want to layer myself in cushions of fat to keep the world at bay. Really, to this day, I don’t know what my reasoning was but I know I had no control.

The background is that my father sexually abused my older sister and me. That leaves a lifetime of scars. I don’t have statistics before me but I know in the past that I’ve read that something like 80% of people who were sexually abused have eating disorders. Cause and effect.

For me, it was a bit of a different style. I wouldn’t starve myself, but I would binge, but never throw up. I was missing that second half of the bulimic equation. Mostly, from such an unbalanced diet, I would get diarrhea and purge that way. Anorexics and bulimics might take Ex-lax or stick their fingers down their throats to vomit. Mine was more natural. I tried the throwing up thing once and couldn’t do it.

No one ever binges on lettuce or carrots. It’s sweets and carbohydrates; junk food and fatty foods. I was put on a diet by the doctor when I was about 12 (my eating disorder began around the same time). I remember nothing of what I was supposed to eat, except sneaking down to the freezer in the basement and pilfering cookies. When I was in my late teens/early twenties, I would buy candies from various stores. Like an alcoholic, I would try to not hit the same store twice in case they started to recognize and judge me. I never had any change in my purse because I used every spare cent for sugary crap.

Once I was going off to dance class. (I was living with my boyfriend but I hid my sweet secret from him too.) I had a bag of smarties (or something similar). I threw it in the dumpster when I left for the class but when I came home, I dug it out, ashamed but unable to stop myself. No one knew I had this eating disorder. It was a dark secret, a terrible stigma. When I moved to Vancouver it continued, in my home, when alone. I ate normally in front of people.

I tried diets several times. But my pattern of not eating much and then binging on a full bag of cookies, a box of chocolates, a carton of ice cream, continued. Diets worked to a degree, until one year. I tried Weight Watchers and gained in the first week. I hated myself. I weighed 175 lbs, more than I’d ever weighed, I was single but all my friends weren’t, and I’d fallen in love (accidentally) with a man who couldn’t love me. I nearly became an alcoholic, recognizing that abyss only when I was hanging over it by a thread.

Finally desperate enough, I went to my doctor and said, “Some of my friends think I have an eating disorder.” She said, “Which friends?” I said, “Well, me.” Then she asked if I’d been sexually abused and I burst out crying, while at the same time I sat there and watched myself cry, feeling odd and disassociated with my reaction. She sent me to a psychiatrist who specialized in eating disorders. He asked me if I’d been sexually abused and I had the same disassociated reaction. At the end of that first session he said my eating disorder had nothing to do with being sexually abused. ??WTF? Then he put me on various meds like Prozac and Fenfluramine, and then Fluvoxamine when the first didn’t work. He promised that I would lose weight. I never did.

The counselling of course was nil and I’d go to his evening sessions with all the skinny anorexic models and me. At least I hadn’t known someone who died from their disorder, like they did. One thing I had never felt when eating was full. That mechanism had malfunctioned and I would only feel full when I’d binged so I never stopped eating soon enough. The medications, which made me somewhat zombie like to my friends, did not aid in losing weight, but did in fact seem to bring in that mechanism of feeling full. A year later, frustrated with the lack of progress with this doctor and with the unending pills, I just quit both. What I found was that I could now eat and feel full. Something had changed.

A year or so later my doctor asked me how I was doing, did I still binge? And I said, yes I did. She asked me what I considered a binge and I said eating two or more chocolate bars in a day. She told me everyone does that once in a while. What I then realized was that it had never mattered how much I ate but how I felt when I ate: I hated myself for having no control and then I would be was out of control.

I sometimes still get that feeling and it scares me when it happens. I unfortunately still have a sweet tooth, but I eat way healthier, and don’t have to eat all of something. If I’m depressed I tend toward hiding under chocolate. I have to watch that. I might have suffered less and had fewer sensitivities to foods now had someone given me the right help early enough, had my father not scarred my psyche, had I not been ashamed.

I was talking once with friends and the subject of comfort foods came up. I couldn’t name one, because for me, there had never been comfort in food. Just trauma, guilt and self-hatred. These days, I can take comfort in a few foods, like Lipton’s chicken noodle soup, but I never feel I can let my vigilance down because that eating disorder is still just around a corner.


Filed under Culture, environment, family, health care

6 responses to “Eating Disorders and the Forbidden Food

  1. Your story is moving and it is similar to others. Doctors seem to be at a loss on how to treat people with ED. They only know how to prescribe pills – and that’s never a good thing. Have you tried alternative methods of healing?

  2. colleenanderson

    I posted it because of a news item on CBC radio where a doctor said that more women die of eating disorders than any other psychological disorder. There is getting to be more attention on the subject but at the same time watching popular media gives the impression that to be popular and beautiful you must be as skinny as the people you watch.

    After watching one season of Buffy (I don’t normally watch TV) I started to become more conscious of my weight. I wonder how people feel who watch TV, read magazines all the time. Since I’m mostly better I keep an eye on how I feel and go through various mental/emotional housecleanings from time to time.

  3. lkwinter

    Glad you’re doing better; I was wondering,

    have you ever been able to forgive your father?

  4. colleenanderson

    No, I haven’t been able to do that. It’s come up in issues that could be affecting my health on other levels (too much bottled anger), but I cannot forgive someone who showed no guilt or remorse for what he did.

    Some day, I imagine someone will be able to explain forgiveness in such a way that I can accept it but right now, it’s still not possible.

  5. lkwinter

    I completely understand Colleen, and I empathize with you as well. They say forgiveness has healing affect for the sufferer, but I’m with you, some things are too serious and too difficult.

    Take good care of yourself.

    : )

  6. Moya

    Speaking from my head and not my heart (I, too, have, and have had in the past, issues with weight…that’s another story.):

    I think that filling our bodies is a natural response to feeling hurt/unsafe (for whatever reason).
    Things that taste good/make us feel good/take us away from the pain, even if only temporarily, become allies in the battle for self-preservation.
    Establishing healthy choices and limits is–to say the least–a challenge.

    I also think that how we see ourselves–both inside and out–can be skewed by what we perceive is expected of us and by trauma…

    Eating disorder is a pointed, double-edged sword.

    From my heart:

    I remember a girl who, as a teen, was beautiful in every way…kind, generous, compassionate…artistic and fun-loving…disciplined and hardworking…bright, resourceful and helpful. She had long brown hair and laughing blue eyes, a tiny waist and shapely hips (that she disdained but didn’t keep the boys from calling).

    She lived in a single-parent home and much was expected of her. She was a loving and loyal daughter.

    She was also a trusted and cherished friend, loved and admired by her friends…this one, in particular.

    Now, today, I admire her courage in sharing these once-secret painful threads of her journey.

    What a woman!

    Best wishes always, Pook

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