New Levels of Self-Hatred

My levels of self-hatred are at an impressive and nearly debilitating high right now. I recently wrote about my decision to not weigh myself every damn morning.

That lasted one week. Or six days, really.

Then Saturday came and I’d gained nearly 4lbs. Logically I knew this was likely water weight from having my period, but seeing that number threw me into a tailspin. I was devastated. I weighed myself on Sunday and was already back down 2lbs, but the emotional damage had been done.

I’ve weighed myself every morning since, seeing anything within a 5lb range of Saturday’s number. I either stay the same or gain.

That is unacceptable.

I could tell myself it’s hormones or water weight or even muscle weight since I’ve been doing more strength training and eating more calories to fuel those workouts. I can look at my intake and know, rationally, that it is impossible for me to have gained actual fat. I don’t even eat enough to fuel my body through its basic functions like breathing and pumping blood, so there’s no possibility that I could be eating an excess that would add fat to my body.

Yet still, I see that number go up and I immediately feel fatter. I look in the mirror and just KNOW I am fatter.

This morning was a disaster. I couldn’t find anything to wear because everything looked awful and felt tight. I could feel my flab spilling out all over the place and it was unbearable. At one point I just sat on the floor in front of the mirror in bra and panties, holding myself and rocking, trying to soothe my nervous system.

I eventually settled on an outfit solely because I had to leave. But it took me so long to do so that I was ten minutes late for my appointment with my psychiatrist. I was a mess already, crying during the walk crosstown. I buzzed her office and walked in, dropping myself onto her sofa with tears still in my eyes.

“I’m really late.”

“Yeah, but we have a half hour still.”

I just sat there.

“What do you want to talk about?”

I shrugged and felt the big fat tears spill over and run down my big fat cheeks.

“Do you want to talk about why you’re crying?”

I did. But I didn’t. I couldn’t contain it all, though, so I just let it all fall out of my fat lips. I told her about weighing myself despite my declaration that I would stop doing daily weigh-ins. I explained that this morning’s number was particularly difficult to process and that I’d been feeling a devastating self-loathing ever since. I told her about crying and the intense worry and fear of getting fatter.

“And then I was on the train platform, staring down at the shiny silver tracks. I thought about jumping, or rather just gently stepping down onto them. I figured I needn’t be dramatic – I could just stand on the tracks and wait for the train to hit me. But I didn’t. I stood on the edge until the train pulled into the station and then got on the train.”

“What made you stop from climbing onto the tracks?”

“I’m not really sure. I just told myself I didn’t have to do it now…I could do it later, maybe the next time I’m waiting for the train.”

Hmm.

Then she asked me about clinic and school, both of which I explained are going very well. She pointed out how incredible it is that I can be struggling with such intense emotional pain while still being able to stay present with my patients and adept at treating them.

I felt weird about that, wondering what she was getting at. I said,

“Yeah. I guess that’s the gift of multiplicity.”

“What do you mean by that? That is not you?”

Ugh. Something about that question just made me want to scream.

“No, it is me, but it’s not just me. There are other parts that care very much about our professional life. They ensure we show up prepared and behave in a skillful manner. It’s important to them, this particular trajectory. But then I try to balance that with other parts. And it feels like I’m being pulled in two directions – one that moves towards a fulfilling, productive, accomplished life…the other moving with intense dedication towards absolute self-destruction.”

“That sounds awful.”

“It is! And I never know what to do, what to choose. They both seem important. It ALL seems important. So I try to give enough energy and attention to every need, but it’s never enough because some of them directly conflict with each other. I cannot starve myself while successfully completing a full-time clinical internship. That’s just not realistic. But sometimes I think about just not eating or drinking for a week and letting everything go to shit.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“I don’t know. I can’t explain it except to say that it comes from this powerful, compulsive need to destroy myself. I need to be constantly reminded of how much I suck. I need to be suffering. That’s what this eating disorder is about, after all. The numbers and rules and obsessions distract me from thinking about the other things…”

“What other things?”

“Oh, you know, the rape-y stuff.”

She nods and says, “That is really very clever, don’t you think. It protects you.”

“Yeah sure. But now I’m fucking up the numbers, too. I can’t even have an eating disorder the right way. I can’t tell if I’m eating too much or too little. If I’m working out too much or too little. All I know is that that number on the scale is going up and I feel crazy! Why?! What is happening? I feel so helpless and alone and scared because if I’m not losing weight, what is the point of me even living?”

She listens. I keep crying and talking incessantly, about nothing important. I’m angry with myself for existing. She says it’s time to end. I grab my bag and apologize for wasting her time.

“Did I give the impression that you were wasting my time?”

“Uhhh…kinda. I don’t know. This is stupid. I don’t even know why I came here!”

I walk out, never even talking about my medication and without discussing scheduling another session.

Whatever. I suck. I wasted both of our time and I’m still just a fat fucking loser.

Fantastic.

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23 thoughts on “New Levels of Self-Hatred

  1. Sirena says:

    Please STOP, you are not a fat fucking loser. It hurts me to hear you say that. Not that this is about me, but at least know that that’s not what the world thinks of you. I hope you can be gentle with yourself in the coming days. x

    Liked by 3 people

  2. Rachel says:

    Oh Andi, I just want to wrap you in a symbolic hug. I hear you, I hear the pain and hopelessness and utter chaos. It really is unbearable, yet somehow you make it. Incredible resilience. Thinking of you, sending support and all the love I have to give. (Which is a lot)

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Rachel says:

    Also, good for you for getting it out. Call yourself a fat fucking loser. It is healthy to externalize those internal voices, as a means of challenging them so they lose their grip. Keep calling yourself that, out loud. Keep telling us (and your other supports) what your mind is telling you. That punishing and angry part gets to be heard too.

    Liked by 2 people

  4. myquietroar says:

    I feel so sad for you that you’re feeling this way, I can understand so much of what you’re saying that I know how awful it feels to have those thoughts and hurt running through you. I wish I could all make it go away. All I can say though is hang in there, however dark it gets, dawn always comes. I have to tell myself that a lot!

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Jean says:

    I am so glad you were brave enough to put this into words, and then to share it with us.

    Reading it, I saw echos of myself there (gained 1.4 lbs that day!) and felt a little less alone and crazy.

    Did you know that 60-65% percent of survivors of extreme abuse have ED’s? And yet we all feel alone.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. dianetharp70 says:

    Andi, sadly I identify. At the worst/height of my battle/war with anorexia/bulimia I weighed myself 2, 3 -4 times a day. Self hate, loathe, despise,,,, even now with only somewhat undetweight/low low bmi & body dysmorphia I’m so super critical of even 1lb fluctuations, I am worthless, a piece of shit, a loser,,,, it’s a prison, a prison I constructed 24 years ago that I can never escape. EDs even if you survive them ~ are a death sentence of sorts, ,,,,

    Liked by 1 person

  7. e.Nice says:

    I’m sorry. It does suck. You don’t suck though. Thanks for writing this. I know its not the same, but I understand the opposite pulls, the very black/white of the situation the need for perfection in one area and the constant pull of destruction at the same time. Its not sustainable. This part though: “talking incessantly, about nothing important” I disagree. I think it is all vitally important because its real. its the struggle.

    Liked by 1 person

  8. LosiLosLoco says:

    Oh how it hurts! But…don’t keep thinking you’re a loser. You’re not. Still got The Wife after all! Still have a wonderful community trying to support you (at least I am) 🙂 So, try to cheer up. Please. Let the happy trajectory have her hey-day too… ❤

    Like

  9. Rose says:

    Hello Andi

    I’ve just come across your blog and can identify with some of the self hatred you have towards yourself. It’s sad to read your words as an outsider. You are so hard on yourself. It doesn’t matter how many times someone tells you how beautiful you are though, you’ve got to believe it for yourself, as you know.

    I can’t trust my own perception, perhaps you can’t either. You sound like you self sabotage like I do. I have a very warped perception of myself in general. For example, I don’t think I’m capable but my therapist tells me that evidence proves I am. Getting the two realities to marry up is really the main focus of my therapy. I hate having my photo taken and having to do video conference calls for work as they make me feel sick. My therapist thinks I’m projecting everything I hate about myself into my reflection. I think I have body dysmorphia but have never been diagnosed. When I was a teenager I used to stare at myself for hours a day in the mirror. I still think I’m deformed and I’m in my thirties.

    As for the eating disorder, I can identify with that too. I used it as a way to control the chaos – that and cleaning. I have never been officially diagnosed with anything apart from depression and that was a recent thing. My mum was severely mentally ill when we were growing up and we had a violent and abusive father according to my therapists. My mum shows all the signs of paranoid schizophrenia but we can’t get her to see any doctors because she thinks everyone is involved in a plot against her. She has always had some narcissistic qualities and wasn’t interested in our mental health growing up so my sisters and I had to cope on our own. My mum drove relatives away and they had no friends so we were pretty much isolated. We had many a coping strategy so we were able to hide our suffering from school teachers. As we got older my sister and I had a huge mistrust of doctors, psychiatrists and psychologists as mum never got any better. My first therapist said I showed signs of post traumatic behaviour and from what I’ve read about disassociation, I know that I spent my teens and early twenties in a dissociative state.

    I still have issues with boundaries. I didn’t even know what these were until fairly recently. I got involved in abusive relationships when I was younger and couldn’t tell when I was getting groomed and bullied at work. The bullying at work is what forced me into my second round my therapy which I’ve been having for a year and it’s saved my sanity.

    Things are getting better though. I don’t have daily thoughts about killing myself – only now again when I feel the sea of black self hatred overwhelms me. Hang in there Andi. I’m glad you’re seeing a therapist – it’s a huge investment x

    Like

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