I am looking forward and hoping that one day.
One day I will be able to look back and say, “But I can feel that now.”
To have my heart back, and let it be broken, once again.
Anorexia took my broken heart and shattered it like a nitrogen frozen banana into a billion pieces.
Recovery, took all I had left of my heart.
Post-recovery is giving me my heart.
I have so little of it though! So little to work with. So little to cry with. So little to dance with. And so much that wants to take it away.
So many anorexic thoughts that want to come back. So little space to dance. So many dishes in the way. So many rude comments that threaten to squelch it. Snide remarks that weren’t meant to hurt anyone but make the speaker feel more free, but my heart creeps back into its trailer, and becomes halfway numb.
Moving away from my dearest friends and the only thing, closest thing I had got to home, caused my heart to break. Sobbing every night over what I was missing was so INFP, but I felt that I couldn’t keep it up. So I told myself to stop, or I would kill myself by weariness. No. This is a burden of the emotional. We bear it, and we are given the strength, too. I didn’t know this.
After I anesthetized my broken heart, I tried to heal my pain by making new friends. By fitting in. I didn’t. So I tried to by losing weight. I became anorexic in my thoughts, and no one noticed – not even me.
After 5 years, something was done. To my body. It was told to “Snap out of it, and gain weight.” It did, while my heart left behind a slime path of tears and crying, resistance, and revelation. It finally got it at BMI 18.5. It opened its eyes part way and said, “I feel better without all that harping.”
But I still didn’t know how to wake it up. I had numbed it, remember? So I tried telling myself it could come awake. But it didn’t come fresh like it did before I told it to go to sleep. It didn’t go through the same heartache. It didn’t feel the same pain.
And when I try to wake it up some more, I get resistance, in the form of words mostly – church words that confuse and frustrate me, family remarks that harm and crush me, (and I have a pretty awesome family!), and teaching slogans – meant to “help” but are too broad to be helpful. I am an INFP. I realize that that was what I was feeling so long ago – the intense drive of feeling the INFP feels.
I want that again. I know it is me. I want that part of me back. I am ready for you. Come back? Will you ever come back? Will I ever be whole again?
I hope my family helps. I hope having me whole again will help my friends. I hope my family understands and will give them an important family member back. I hope. And that is good, I think, to be hoping. Because hope is helpful, and it comes from the soul. I think my soul is the only thing that can heal my heart.
Churches, doctors, families and friends, everywhere – I really want to tell you all that “it” (specifically anorexia, but more broadly other similar emotional/body crossover issues) isn’t about thinness. It isn’t about sensitivity. It is a matter of so much more. Listen to them.
Those Moments on Dreamer Rambling – this kind of gives some examples of what I am talking about 🙂