I am (and always have been (and probably always will be)) a family woman. Born into a smallish family of five that grew to a family of seven by the time I was six, family was always priority numero uno. My family was 'very Brady' from basically the moment my Mom and Step-Dad got married.
For all intents and purposes he was Daddy to me. He raised my brothers and I like we were his own and now, nearly 20 years later, we wouldn't think twice to think of him as the only Dad we ever knew and certainly the only one we ever loved. All my brothers (thats four) are extremely close. Family by marriage, friends by choice. Each of us find time to do things together with and without our parents. In a word; I love my family and they love me.
June 2009
Left to Right: Jordan, Lani, Mom, Dad, Me, Michael, Adam
All through the process of coming out about my eating disorder (including but not limited to three suicide attempts, a six day five night stint in a locked down mental hospital, and a number of misdiagnoses of mental disorders), my family was there. Some listened to me cry, others held my hand and others still simply let me hug them until some of the sadness was taken away just for a minute. Almost immediately, my Mom insisted that the family sit in on a day long seminar for family members of people with eating disorder which all but one family member attended.
My family has been there for me since this began (for them), but there have been countless times where the people in my family have been the most triggering for me. Their desire to make me better is so strong that they often don't listen to what I say, they simply react on instinct... and most of the time, instinct SUCKS!
For many weeks in treatment I was somewhat barred from talking to my Mom altogether because of the intense codependency. She loves me more than anything on this planet. But her desperate need for me to be "better" (whatever the hell that is) makes her say and do things that one could only see as her trying her best to pull me with all her might from the dark room I live in while I sit chained and weighted down there.
I never quite know how to explain to she and my dad that some times dinner with them is the hardest part of my week. I don't know how to say that some times their concern and worry gets screwed up into a horrid episode for me.
I have discussed this with many of my friends in treatment and no one has come up with an answer yet... How do you explain to an outsider how the insiders feel?
My family (and my friends to many degrees) have tried so many times to better understand how I feel, but they end up confused, upset and frustrated with me. How does one explain that cake can some times be terrifying? How can you make a normal person understand how a meal with the people you are closest too could be enough to send you off the edge not one or two but three times in a short afternoon? How can anyone with an ED explain what it is to have an ED?
There is no rationality. There is no certainty. There is just a bunch of illogical thoughts strung together to equal the person I am. And now that I am in treatment, I am finding it harder and harder to put on a face for people when my emotions start to come up.
And so, I am stuck tomorrow. To follow a family tradition (which I of course begged for because "I'd like to actually keep it down this year").
After a brunch that set me off three times just yesterday, I am not ready for tomorrow's dinner. Not even a little bit. And yet, I know I will go. And I know I will be bitchy. And I know I will be scared. And I know I will be sad. But I will go. Because tomorrow my family ties will feel as they some times do - like bondage.
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