Wow the last time I was here was just last year - literally. I can't believe I'm turning 22 this year. Why does that sound so old? I can only remember too well, my primary schools days when I kept moaning and groaning about how its a chore growing up and that I wanted to turn older soon because I hated school and my puny classmates (okay the puny boys who constantly made fun of me: thanks to you I'm in therapy.) and now here I am, thinking about how quickly the years are going by and wondering what the future lies in store for me. I'm officially an adult now, which come to think of it, makes no sense because how can someone as politically apathetic and still so emotionally immature be an adult? There are so many things in life I've yet to experience - earning a steady income, falling in love, heartbreak, dumping a boy. I think my life has been somewhat smooth sailing so far. I've never needed a real job because I have been shamelessly living off the hard-earned money of my father (
thank you daddy), and my 21st year of life has been filled with many emotionally torrid moments and experiences.
2012 has been both an exhilarating and grueling journey for me. For instance, I turned 21 (
oh my goodness I can vote now. Wait what's the difference between the Worker's Party and the PAP?!), I trekked to Mount Everest Base Camp (
technically it was at the end of 2011) with the most amazing group of students, went to Los Angeles on my own and experienced for myself the beauty and the wonder of a very liberal culture & joined at the very last minute (on the deadline actually) URECA, acronym for Undergraduate Research Experience on Campus, that has allowed me to embark on research body image and peer comparison, that has simultaneously made me delve deeper into other perspectives of examine body image, most particularly the feminist perspective that has expanded my knowledge and frustrations at the social constructions and gender inequalities in every society, especially so in Asian countries such as Japan, India and the Middle East where patriarchy is the prominent feature of the culture that majorly contributes to gender discrimination.
On the downside, my eating problems and body esteem spiraled out of control, to my utter despair, and I desperately struggled to preserve my sanity, and my grades, as my eating problems significantly affected my ability to concentrate in school. I was relapsing so often and couldn't focus because I was obsessed with the food I ate, what I can eat after, what I eat tomorrow, how much I had to exercise, exercising, how badly I had failed, crying, cutting and wanting to kill myself. I've had suicidal thoughts in the past, I admit, but they were intermittent. It happened only a few times when I was at an extreme low in my life, and they rarely occurred. This year, I was having them everyday. I formulated plans. I prepared. I planned, and I was thought I was ready. I planted the seed and fed it. I was certain I wouldn't survive this eating disorder. and, literally thought that there was no way out. I wanted treatment, but I was afraid of approaching my mother. but then I thought it'd be good to do so because she'd save me the trouble of suicide by actually murdering me first.
But I've friends to thank for who willingly stood by me, even though they didn't need to, for encouraging me and pushing me and never judging me. Yes, that's you Shu. And Mira, Zee, Shards & Nette. I couldn't ask for better friends, who have been my pillars of strength and support, comfort and love. And my aunt whom I confided and confessed the most too. I opened my entire heart out to her. She suffered from bulimia in her teens and knew exactly what I was going through. She advised and help, coached and encouraged. Bless her heart but it didn't work because I was still planning to drink that entire bottle of bleach and go to bed. Finally, I gave her the permission to tell my mother.
I'm still not sure how my mother took it, and is taking it. I read her texts. And I remember the shame I felt when I read the texts she exchanged with my aunt. She was shocked and confused, asked my aunt if I was sure I had an eating disorder, and lamented how she'd help her children but no one would help her. I think I cried after reading that conversation. My mother texted me.
Texted me. "We'll go see a doctor about your situation okay?" And I remember feeling so relieved. So thankful. And I cried like wounded hippo after that. Because alas, the journey to seeing a doctor was harrowed. The appointments kept getting pushed back. I became angry and upset. Relapsing more. Binging and purging more. Cutting more. Losing focus and ignoring my studies more and more. Finally, my mother set up an interim appointment at a private clinic for an assessment to "get things going".
She drove me there, but it wasn't a pleasant experience. We were both silent. I entered the doctor's office full of dread and fear. The doctor was a complete imbecile. I told him of my eating practices and exactly how I binged and purged, and that was why it had brought me here. And to my utter astonishment, he had told me that it can be considered "normal" if it meant it were to help me control my weight. I remember feeling extremely incredulous when he said that and asked how could it be normal, if it were giving me so much distress, to the point that I had actually wanted to consume bleach. I don't remember what he told me after, but I left the office feeling even more dejected.
He had suggested a second appointment with the psychologist for a trial run of CBT. When the front desk when my mother was making payment, the receptionist asked which day I would like. My mother looked at her, and gave her a half hearted smile and pointed to me "Ask her. Its her problem, not mine", then walked away to text someone. . I remember the look on the receptionist's face: bewilderment and confusion mixed with pity and embarrassment. I remember how the second receptionist had looked up from her desk so slightly when she heard the remark, and quickly returned to her work. And I could only remember feeling embarrassed and even more lonely than I ever had felt in my entire life after that.
The journey home, needless to say, was unpleasant. We argued. She yelled at me, demanding to know why I didn't even tell her. And I tearfully told her that I didn't know how, and that I was afraid she would judge me and that when I confided in my aunt, I felt safe. She accused me of making her out to be the "bad person" now, and I kept thinking how could she make it about her when I'm the one being destroyed? When I arrived home, I locked myself in my room and remember thinking how I absolutely hated her, how I wished she weren't my mother, how I hated my family and how I wanted a normal family. Parents who are comforting and supporting, always asking about their children and wanting to spend time with them and perhaps even no siblings because I dislike them so. The truth is that to me, they're just my siblings and nothing more. We share the same blood, but that will only remain a biological fact. I feel no sense of loyalty to them whatsoever. I always dream of the day where my sister leaves and never comes back, and my brother never being born.
My first appointment at SGH was set for November. My mother followed me, but this time we were more relaxed about it. We lamented at the long waiting time. She left early to go for a parent teacher meeting. I entered the psychiatrist's office full of hope. Dr Li was warm, matronly and charming. I was interviewed by her two medical students. They probed and prodded. Finally, Dr Li told me what I had already known all along, my eating patterns fit the criteria for EDNOS, Eating Disorder not Otherwise Specified, that I have mixed symptoms of anorexia and bulimia but they were lacking in severity.
I was made to see a dietician to help me regulate my eating rhythm, and a psychologist to talk about the issues plaguing me. Admittedly, the first 2 weeks of treatment were hard. I continued relapsing and thought maybe I'd never get better, but I received unlikely support and advice from Nette who had seen a dietician herself, and motivated me to continue through my eating plan.
I've met up with psychologist twice already, and speaking to her has shed quite a bit of light on the causes of my eating disorder. The issue that she brought up that I had
never thought about before was the issue of attention. She told me that perhaps the need to control my eating stems from a desire to gain attention from others, given my childhood in which my father was almost always away, and my mother focusing on my invalid brother and favoring my older sister. She asked me to describe instances where my parents praised me. I came up blank. She asked me to describe episodes where I felt my mother favored, or paid more attention to my siblings. She had to stop me. She asked me to describe one salient memory of it. I told her how she had brought my sister shopping for prom dresses before her prom, but told me I would look ugly in a dress. I had to stop after that because I just wanted to cry.
It got me thinking a lot while on the way home. Figuring things out and whatnot. While I feel relieved that all that negative energy is being acknowledged, its made me think of how tired I am of going through all this, and how I wouldn't want children in the future because I don't want children to be a reflection of me. I hate myself now. I hate the way I look. I hate that I'm not beautiful, or gorgeous and how boys don't get attracted to me. What if I hate my daughter in the future because she looks like me?
I know. It sounds selfish. It
is selfish. Maybe I'll bring this up during my next session with the psychologist and see what she thinks. I've been having dreams about being on stage and failing a Chinese test recently. According to several websites, dreaming of being on stage may represent a desire to be a center of attention, and may represent your behavior, and/or manipulation of relationships and interactions with others. Dreaming of failing a test possibly signifies a fear of not meeting other people's expectations. I'm not sure what this means, or if this even means anything. I'm a student of science but I admit I am a believer in dreams. I've been keeping records of my dreams since I was 16 and I've noticed interrelated patterns in my dreams and my waking experiences.
Geez, so much agony and existential stuff. I think this calls for a bout of much needed yoga and meditation.
