It is no secret that I like nice things. The problem is that I like them a little too much and compulsively shop until I get in trouble. Shopping has been one of those things I do (like binge eat) when I get depressed or upset, so my new therapist and I have been talking about it. She kept asking why do you need all those things when you already have enough? And do I do it to impress people or try to be someone I’m not…?
I can’t answer her. I don’t know why I buy expensive jewelry, shoes and purses. I’m not trying to impress anybody! My therapist and I discussed it some more and finally we decided that it doesn’t matter what the root of the action is, I just have to find something healthy to replace it. Or else.
That was last week. Then today, after taking pictures with my family after my daughter’s award ceremony, I went home and looked at the photos. I was mortified. I looked so awful. My skirt was awkward and wrinked, my shirt was awful and my hair looked like crap. As soon as I could, I climbed out of those clothes and threw them in the donate bin.
“I looked fat and ugly,” I told my friend later. She told me I was not, but when we stopped texting I couldn’t stop thinking about how gross I looked. I actually changed clothes after that 4 times. I just gave up, threw on a dress and chalked it up to it being a “blah” day.
Tonight I was sitting in a support group when somebody was talking about lessening your load. He said that everybody has a backpack and rocks that make it heavy, but you don’t have to carry such a heavy load. Well as he was talking I thought about my “backpac”k – then I thought, “Ha, mine would be a designer purse.” Then I looked down at my big new bag David bought me, which was at my feet. I then glanced at my feet, adorned with new Gucci slides that cost a small fortune. Then my glance fell on my dress, which was about $300. I asked myself why I needed all that, then thought “But it’s so pretty.”
I tuned out the speaker, and it was like sirens in my head.
I buy those things because I think they’re pretty and I’m so ugly and fat.
Could it be that simple though?
I’ve been obsessed with how I look, especially what I weigh, for decades. About the same amount of time I started buying all these “pretty things.”
I’ve had a breast reduction, a tummy tuck and gastric sleeve surgery. I also have a formidable eating disorder. I’m now 75-pounds lighter than my highest weight. I’m a SIZE 6 and haven’t been in a single digit size since I was 6 years old. Still I hate my photos. I know deep in my heart that I will never be thin enough to assuage my fears of not being good enough.
For the 2,341st time, when is enough enough?
I know that I’m not really fat and ugly. Sometimes I know that I’m thin. Logically, I know I’m not fat and ugly, but it’s like I have blinders on. I’ve said over and over that I don’t want Isla to ever go through this, shouldn’t that should prompt me to say that I love my body no matter what.? And actually believe it? To tell myself I’m beautiful no matter what. That it doesn’t matter what I weight or look like at all.
But it would be lies. All lies. And how sad for my daughter who I’m trying to break this generational cycle of self-hatred for when I can’t even look at a picture of myself without throwing my clothes away. And deleting pictures of me with my family. I tell my daughter that she’s beautiful and that it doesn’t matter how much she weighs or what she looks like.
It does matter to me. Because the truth is I don’t think I’m good enough despite my accomplishments. Despite people telling me I am good enough, thin enough, pretty enough.
I’d like to say this situation will prompt me to turn over a leaf, but it won’t. I’ll tell myself that I love my body and how I look and that I’m good enough — the whole nine yards.
At least while my daughter is listening.
And until she hears and believes me, I’ll keep writing check after check to my therapist.
