words for the worm
May. 16th, 2006 10:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brightrosefoxIf you were to ask on the street, how many would tell you that anorexia is not a disease, but is completely psychological, even delusional, and that all the anorexic must do is " just eat more and get over it"? How many would believe it is born solely from reading magazines with photographs of thin, scantily clad women or from watching television featuring skinny beautiful movie stars? How many, still, would think that it only affects certain women, or to a horror would think that it is a good idea because "you keep getting skinnier and that's what everyone wants"?
It is probably one of the more morbid and dangerous stereotypes out there: A woman who is seen as beautiful only by the size of her waist to hip ratio, by numbers on a scale, by the single digit number on the tag of a pair of pants. Why is this happening? Should we blame someone or something? The photographers? The airbrushers? The models? The women who buy the magazines and watch the shows? Society? Advertising? School? Friends? Teenagers? Men?
For lack of a better word, we will call it the Worm. I call it the Worm. It burrows in deep, deep inside the brain and becomes part of the brain until the girl cannot remember how it was not there. Maybe it happened when she was a child and realized that elderly loved ones had died, and decided that growing big, growing up, growing old, meant dying, and that eating meant growing big, hence the cycle. Maybe it started when she was in school and was teased and teased and teased for being different. Maybe it began when she hit college and ate bad campus food and got sick and decided that food just was not worth it.
The Worm is born tiny and grows with each passing thought. It feeds off of emptiness, need for control, lack of want. The less the girl eats, the fatter the Worm gets. Soon it doesn't move. It is comfortable. It has found a home. The Worm's thoughts are the girl's thoughts, her thoughts are the Worm. It whispers at her in the night, asking for more, asking to be fed her emptiness, her fear of losing control. It shows her things that are not real, prodding her body with her own hands, grabbing at invisible flesh and flab and fat, murmuring give me this, give me this and she says yes because she doesn't know how to fight it anymore; it grows stronger as she grows weaker in a bizarre balance. It becomes her blood and her marrow and her cells and her nerves. It eats her muscles and her skin. It wishes to become her and possess her because, of course, everything wants to live.
And then, after a while, she starts to fight back. She realizes what is happening and she begins to starve the Worm by eating food. Her body fleshes out and gains curves and the Worm howls. It cries and screams and pleads in her ear and she learns to ignore it until she gains enough weight to silence it -- for a while. There is no cure, it tells her in a weakening voice. No cure, no cure. Only the battle.
There will be a long time of peace and health, maybe years. The girl will be healthy and lovely and she will not worry about her weight or her shape and be happy and joyful and proud when she is told how beautiful she looks, because she knows she is beautiful. She is strong. She is the strongest person in the universe.
But sometimes the girl warrior falters, and then the Worm sees its chance and grabs hold again, grabs her thoughts and weaves its own back in. Fat, it laughs. Fat, huge, flabby, lumpy, fleshy thing. What are you doing? Look what you have done. This is what you want? She stares at the mirror and cries and mutters, But they said I look healthy. They say I look beautiful. They love me. And I love me too, I look beautiful. And it laughs again and tells her that nothing matters, nothing matters but what she sees, and what she sees is too much flesh. Where did it all come from? What happened to the hard muscle? Where did all that cellulite come from? Why are the numbers increasing? Why won't the clothes fit?
However, she is wiser now, more willing to listen to those around her, so she continues the battle but she is much more cautious now. She understands that these thoughts are not completely hers. They are the Worm. They are the disease that has attacked her mind and is trying to steal her back. There are two entities in her now: herself and the Worm. She will have thoughts and feelings that are not necessarily wholly her own. She will want to be strong and healthy, but these thoughts will not leave, and she must learn to recognize them. No matter how strong she feels, no matter how recovered she feels, she now understands that she cannot just lay down the sword and rest. It is a constant vigil. The Worm doesn't sleep.
One day, she will find peace with the Worm, and perhaps eventually it will quiet forever. There is no cure. But there are weapons and there is always the fight.
So, then...
Why do I feel like such a gods damned fucking hypocrite?
I'm so tired.
Why can't I just rest?
It is probably one of the more morbid and dangerous stereotypes out there: A woman who is seen as beautiful only by the size of her waist to hip ratio, by numbers on a scale, by the single digit number on the tag of a pair of pants. Why is this happening? Should we blame someone or something? The photographers? The airbrushers? The models? The women who buy the magazines and watch the shows? Society? Advertising? School? Friends? Teenagers? Men?
For lack of a better word, we will call it the Worm. I call it the Worm. It burrows in deep, deep inside the brain and becomes part of the brain until the girl cannot remember how it was not there. Maybe it happened when she was a child and realized that elderly loved ones had died, and decided that growing big, growing up, growing old, meant dying, and that eating meant growing big, hence the cycle. Maybe it started when she was in school and was teased and teased and teased for being different. Maybe it began when she hit college and ate bad campus food and got sick and decided that food just was not worth it.
The Worm is born tiny and grows with each passing thought. It feeds off of emptiness, need for control, lack of want. The less the girl eats, the fatter the Worm gets. Soon it doesn't move. It is comfortable. It has found a home. The Worm's thoughts are the girl's thoughts, her thoughts are the Worm. It whispers at her in the night, asking for more, asking to be fed her emptiness, her fear of losing control. It shows her things that are not real, prodding her body with her own hands, grabbing at invisible flesh and flab and fat, murmuring give me this, give me this and she says yes because she doesn't know how to fight it anymore; it grows stronger as she grows weaker in a bizarre balance. It becomes her blood and her marrow and her cells and her nerves. It eats her muscles and her skin. It wishes to become her and possess her because, of course, everything wants to live.
And then, after a while, she starts to fight back. She realizes what is happening and she begins to starve the Worm by eating food. Her body fleshes out and gains curves and the Worm howls. It cries and screams and pleads in her ear and she learns to ignore it until she gains enough weight to silence it -- for a while. There is no cure, it tells her in a weakening voice. No cure, no cure. Only the battle.
There will be a long time of peace and health, maybe years. The girl will be healthy and lovely and she will not worry about her weight or her shape and be happy and joyful and proud when she is told how beautiful she looks, because she knows she is beautiful. She is strong. She is the strongest person in the universe.
But sometimes the girl warrior falters, and then the Worm sees its chance and grabs hold again, grabs her thoughts and weaves its own back in. Fat, it laughs. Fat, huge, flabby, lumpy, fleshy thing. What are you doing? Look what you have done. This is what you want? She stares at the mirror and cries and mutters, But they said I look healthy. They say I look beautiful. They love me. And I love me too, I look beautiful. And it laughs again and tells her that nothing matters, nothing matters but what she sees, and what she sees is too much flesh. Where did it all come from? What happened to the hard muscle? Where did all that cellulite come from? Why are the numbers increasing? Why won't the clothes fit?
However, she is wiser now, more willing to listen to those around her, so she continues the battle but she is much more cautious now. She understands that these thoughts are not completely hers. They are the Worm. They are the disease that has attacked her mind and is trying to steal her back. There are two entities in her now: herself and the Worm. She will have thoughts and feelings that are not necessarily wholly her own. She will want to be strong and healthy, but these thoughts will not leave, and she must learn to recognize them. No matter how strong she feels, no matter how recovered she feels, she now understands that she cannot just lay down the sword and rest. It is a constant vigil. The Worm doesn't sleep.
One day, she will find peace with the Worm, and perhaps eventually it will quiet forever. There is no cure. But there are weapons and there is always the fight.
So, then...
Why do I feel like such a gods damned fucking hypocrite?
I'm so tired.
Why can't I just rest?
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no subject
Date: 2006-05-17 06:15 am (UTC)I have never been officially diagnosed with it - therapists are expensive and cognitive therapy still more so... plus finding one that I'm comfortable with in THIS area? ha. double ha even. but you've brought tears to my eyes. It's hard. really really hard. I'm not even where you are - my eyebrows havent been fully formed in years. But thank you.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-17 01:06 pm (UTC)but imagine where you would be if you lived by that philosophy?
i know you are having a bad time and i am sorely sorry for it. i wish i could be there with you in more than spirit. but i am proud of you, always, for your willingness to look in the eye a disease categorized, in it's nature, by denial. do you know how tough that is? how hard that step alone is? i wish i knew the right words, all i can say is i love you, and i would kill the worm for you if i could, and hold you safe, and let you sleep.
but this isn't mine to fight. so i'll just be here, for whenever you need me. and even when you don't.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-17 01:27 pm (UTC)And thank you. You always have the right words. I can't begin to tell you how grateful I am for you.
How tough is it? Some days I don't realize.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-17 01:32 pm (UTC)and you DON'T realize, and that's part of what makles you so amazing. you rip the face off an insidious monster and scream at it while brandishing weapons and then you think you are weak? never, my lovely. never, ever. tired, yes. but a warrior, truly.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-17 03:46 pm (UTC)Yes, I am a tired warrior. Thank you for clarifying. I would rather dive right in blind some days. It's like having a fork stuck in your face and taking a bite and then realizing that it's a live spider and spitting it in the trash without blinking (yes, Watson, I remember).
no subject
Date: 2006-05-17 05:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-17 01:15 pm (UTC)We have moments of strength and moments of weakness.
Not everyone has the same strengths and weaknesses.
When we doubt ourselves, we look to our loved ones who will smile and say, "you can do this. I am here for you."
And we keep fighting the good fight.
:)
"Eat more and get over it"
Date: 2006-05-17 04:12 pm (UTC)Re: "Eat more and get over it"
Date: 2006-05-17 05:17 pm (UTC)Ignorance and stupidity go hand in hand, after all.