My many parts

"There's such a lot of different Annes in me. I sometimes think that is why I'm such a troublesome person. If I was just the one Anne it would be ever so much more comfortable, but then it wouldn't be half so interesting." Anne of Green Gables, Lucy Maud Montgomery 

Nosy Nora is my therapist. 

She has saved my life. Multiple times. Figuratively, by providing me with tools and opportunities to say things I've never said, to talk about things I've never talked about, and to make changes in my life, and to know what it feels like to be cradled in support in a way I never was as a child. And also literally in that there have been several times since I've been seeing her when I just didn't want to be alive any more. And Nosy Nora has gotten me through. 

So it wasn't surprising when Nosy Nora had an idea for managing my chronic pain. 

I have had a headache and neck pain since August. It's been 3 1/2 months now. Sometimes it is unbearable. Sometimes it is minimal. But it is always there. Nagging at me. Throbbing. 

Nosy Nora suggested I see Hearing Henry. She said that Hearing Henry is an RMT who does Osteopathy. Who does whatnow?

I turned to Wikipedia: 

"Osteopathy is a type of alternative medicinethat emphasizes the physical manipulation of the body's muscle tissue and bones.[1] Its name derives from Ancient Greek "bone" (ὀστέον) and "disease of" (-πάθεια),[2]" 

I decided that I could live with that definition. That was one hurdle conquered. The next was that Hearing Henry was a man. I don't have very many men in my life. And the ones that I do have don't touch me. My Dad almost never touches me. The odd time he has patted me on the shoulder and it has been awkward and weird and uncomfortable. I prefer he not touch me at all. 

The only man who does touch me is my dear friend DS who is also an RMT. Going for a treatment from DS has always been comfortable, safe, and okay. And part of that is having known him for many years and having the utmost trust in him. The other part is simply knowing what a wonderful person he is. 

The idea of going to see some strange man to have him touch me on purpose was very odd for me. I wasn't scared of the touch. I didn't think that I would like it particularly. But I wasn't scared because Nosy Nora said it was okay. And besides, at that point I wanted to rip my own head off from the constant pain. 

Off I went. Scared to meet Hearing Henry. Not because he was going to touch me, but because he was going to judge me. He was going to take one look at me and decide that I was too fat. He was going to poke and prod me. After a thorough assessment, he was going to determine that my chronic pain was due to my weight. He would tell me that if I lost 100 lbs, the pain would go away. As PP says, there's no rationalizing the irrational. If I actually lost 100 lbs I would either be dead or unable to support my own head. But in my warped mind, losing 100 lbs will solve all my problems and obviously Hearing Henry would come to the same conclusion. 

Hearing Henry didn't mention my weight. And surprisingly being touched felt okay. Even more surprising was that beyond being okay, I actually liked it. It felt oddly comforting and nurturing. Not a feeling I am used to coming from a man. 

AND I got relief from my pain! I now see Hearing Henry twice a week and the treatments are my way of pain management. Much better than me begging my doctor for pain meds which she wouldn't give me anyway because of my being an addict and stuff. 

Nosy Nora and Hearing Henry are the perfect tag-team working in tandem on all my different parts. Sending support from different angles. Different sides of me. Between them, my partner DP, my CP, and my friends, I have a flood of support coming at me from all sides. 

I'm going through one of those periods where life just feels too hard. Where life seems to just throw me one curve ball after another and deciding to go to sleep forever seems like a viable solution. Part of me doesn't believe that. It's a struggle between different parts of me. 

Nosy Nora and I have talked a lot about how people are made up of different parts. And I have started talking to Hearing Henry about that as well. I think different parts of us develop in response to different experiences in our lives. As a way of coping. Not always healthfully. But coping. 

There are many, many part inside of me that make me who I am. And each part plays a role in how I respond to different situations and to the experiences of having emotions. I decided that in order to identify the purpose, motivation and development of each of my parts, it would be effective to name them and draw them. 

Here are some of my many parts. 

Hateful Harriet is the loudest of all the parts of me. She is the mean voice inside my head that tells me how stupid I am when I make a mistake. She tells me that I am ugly, and fat, and undeserving. She calls me names and is the first part to step up in response to anything that happens - even good things. She shuts down happiness and hope by telling me that I am a fraud and am unworthy. She also often shuts down my other parts. There are few parts that she likes and encourages. 

Anxious Martha is the part of me that is afraid and worried all the time. She tells me everything that is going to go wrong. For example, if I am driving and it starts to rain then she tells me that all 4 tires are going to fall off the car and then I will get hit by another car which will start a chain reaction of a 73 car collision. Or if I have a disagreement with someone then they are never going to talk to me again and they are going to get other people to stop talking to me too. She tells me I will lose my job and have nowhere to live and that I will run out of money. She tells me that everyone I love is going to die. Soon. Hateful Harriet encourages her once in awhile and other times she just tells her how stupid she is too. 

Angry April doesn't get to stick around very long. She is a knee-jerk reaction that gets sent to her room pretty quickly after she tries to express her feelings. Even though she doesn't get to talk to sort through her emotions, she's always there in the background. Festering. Waiting in her room for someone to open the door so that she can explode all at once about all the injustices that have made her angry. The door is almost always closed. 

Purging Polly pokes her head up when something feels stressful. She is convinced that throwing up and feeling empty is much better than sitting with an uncomfortable emotion. She doesn't listen to reason. She is irrational and unwilling to stop and think. She reacts swiftly before any other parts can stop her. I think she is mostly afraid. Afraid of what could happen if feelings get felt. 

Fat Fanny sits around eating. She thinks that she can numb feelings with food that is consumed without being tasted. Food without nutritional value. She and Purging Polly used to be a team. Fat Fanny has recently moved out. She barely visits anymore. Which leaves Purging Polly throwing up anything that gets eaten rather than throwing up excess food. 

Jealous Hortense is Angry April's best friend. They whisper to each other through the walls. Hateful Harriet and Jealous Hortense fight a LOT. Harriet tells her that she is so unworthy and undeserving of anything that there is no reason to feel jealous. But Hortense is pretty spunky and is able to hold her own. She sticks around a lot. 

Punishing Penelope is just plain mean. She is Hateful Harriet's right hand. She decides what the punishment will be for my stupidity, my weight, my laziness, my procrastination. My punishments include eating when I'm not hungry, not doing activities that I enjoy like walking or playing guitar, not asking for support from Nosy Nora when I need it, and poking Purging Polly to get a reaction out of her. 

Sexy Sasha is very quiet. She's there. She knows what she wants but is afraid to ask for it. She doesn't think she's worthy of attention. So she doesn't speak up much. 

Morning Myrtle is Hateful Harriet's biggest rival. She isn't around very often. But when she is, it's wonderful. Myrtle makes cups of tea and lays in bed reading. She takes a cup of tea to the park in the morning and soaks in the sun. She goes for walks along the river and notices the colours of the trees and the grass. She likes to sleep in. She buys beads to string on wire with Nosy Nora to acknowledge accomplishments. Morning Myrtle is happy. 

Motivated Mona thinks that Punishing Penelope is a pain in the ass. Mona shows up when things need to get done. She cleans the house, does the dishes, writes report cards, runs errands, and makes the phone calls that no one else will. Unfortunately, she gets tired really easily. I think she must have fibromyalgia. She runs out of steam and goes to bed for weeks at a time. 

Silent Sally sees all, hears all, knows all, and says nothing. She keeps the secrets of all the other parts. 

Scared Susan sits at Anxious Martha's feet. Martha tells her everything that is going to happen and Susan believes every word. She tries to hide from the world. She is convinced that she is going to be hurt. Repeatedly. So she cowers, protecting herself from the next blow that she knows is coming. 

Lonely Lisa was never noticed. She feels invisible. Her sadness was never acknowledged. She didn't know how to ask for help. When sadness comes now, she sits on the stairs wondering if anyone will see her. Instead of going to someone for help, she waits to see if someone will notice, figure out what's wrong, and help her to feel better. 

Needy Natalie is annoying. She has no boundaries. And no respect for other people's needs - only her own. 

Clingy Caroline is embarrassing. She desperately wants the nurturing maternal figure that she never had. So she clings to kindness and holds onto any feeling of being taken care of. She makes me feel like I'm 3 years old. 

Imaginative Anne is the part of me that identifies with Anne Shirley from Anne of Green Gables. Anne thinks all the marvellous things that I would never ever say aloud. She has a vivid imagination and uses flowery descriptive language when she thinks. And what she wants more than anything in the world is to be loved and to belong. 

Felicity the Fraud is really, really, REALLY talented. She can fake anything so convincingly that she has everyone fooled. People believe that she is good, and kind, and intelligent, and strong, and capable, and knowledgeable, and worthy. She worms her way into people's lives and hearts by tricking them into believing these false characteristics. The problem is that she can't keep up the facade forever because other parts knock her over once in awhile. She's pretty much able to pick herself up and take over again though. 

Nurturing Nora is the part of me that I can't find. The part that I WANT to find. She is the part of me who would be able to take care of all the other parts. 

She would know that what Hateful Harriet really needs is a hug. Anxious Martha needs a cup of tea. Angry April needs to be heard and told that it's okay to be angry. Purging Polly needs to be held and protected. Fat Fanny needs to be told that she is loveable. Jealous Hortense needs to be told that it's okay to have feelings about what she doesn't have and to express those feelings so that she can let them go. Punishing Penelope needs to be grounded and taught not to be a bully. Sexy Sasha needs to be invited to the party. Morning Myrtle needs to be encouraged to stick around. Motivated Mona needs to pace herself so that she doesn't burn out. Silent Sally needs to be told that she can speak. To be held while she speaks all the truths. Scared Susan needs to be held and protected and comforted. Lonely Lisa needs to be told that she is noticed and seen and that she matters. She also needs a hug. Needy Natalie needs to be told that it's okay to need other people. That no one can go through life alone. Clingy Caroline needs a big lonnnnnnngggggg squidge. She needs to be told that kindness and caring can be abundant if she is open to receiving it. Imaginative Anne needs to be told that her vivid imagination is wonderful and her use of language isn't too ridiculous to say aloud and that the world is full of kindred spirits. Felicity the Fraud needs to be told that all her characteristics are real. That no one can actually fake their entire life and their entire personality. 

Nurturing Nora is in there somewhere. She is the part that I want to find, to grow, to give strength to, to become the dominant voice. 

NOSY Nora provides me with the things that I don't know how to provide to myself. It embarrasses me. It makes Hateful Harriet and Punishing Penelope very loud. It adds fuel to their fire. CP says that if I had cancer, I wouldn't be embarrassed to need chemo. She says that at the present time, Nosy Nora is my chemo and that I don't need to feel embarrassed. 

I am trying to embrace this idea. 

My hope. My goal. Is to be able to provide these things to myself. To be able to rely on the nurturing part of myself. To be able to develop coping strategies so that I don't continually fall apart. So that I don't continually find ways to harm myself. That I develop the ability to do more than pick myself up, but to hold myself up. 

Have you ever thought about the parts that make up who you are? Have you ever thought of their motivation? Of their reason for existing? Could you name them? Can you imagine them? 

Be kind to yourself, and to all your parts. 

xoxo

...

FAT FAT FAT!!!

BEING FAT MEANS I HAVE EXTRA PADDING AROUND MY BONES AND MY MUSCLES AND MY ORGANS. 

IT DOES NOT MEAN THAT I HAVE EXTRA PADDING AROUND MY FEELINGS. 

I AM A HUMAN. 

A HUMAN WHO HURTS. 

A HUMAN WHO IS A DAUGHTER, A SISTER, A NEICE, AN AUNT, A PARTNER, A FRIEND, A TEACHER, A WRITER, AN ARTIST, AN ACTIVIST, A PACIFIST, A SOCIALIST, A LESBIAN, A BLOGGER, A DOG OWNER, A READER, A LEARNER, A FACEBOOK ADDICT, A THIRD GENERATION TORONTONIAN, A WIFE, A WOMAN, A FEMINIST, A QUEER. 

I AM HUMAN. 

AND I HAVE FEELINGS!!!! AND THOSE FEELINGS CAN BE STOMPED ON AND RIPPED OUT AND TORN INTO TINY PIECES AND FED TO HUNGRY TIGERS ON A PERFECTLY STRAWBERRY DAY. 

FAT PEOPLE ARE TREATED LIKE WE ARE BENEATH OTHERS, ESPECIALLY THOSE WITH THIN PRIVILEGE. ANGRY HATEFUL MEAN PEOPLE WHO HURL THE WORD FAT WITH THE INTENT TO HURT. 

THERE IS NO OTHER INTENT. 

YOU DONT THROW AN INSULT AT SOMEONE IF YOU ARE TRYING TO MAKE FRIENDS. OR IF YOU ARE TRYING OUT THE WORD. 

NO. 

THERE IS A PURPOSE IN CALLING PEOPLE NAMES AND THAT PURPOSE IS TO BE HATEFUL AND MEAN. 

AND I SHOULD BE ABOVE ALL OF THAT. 

BUT I AM HUMAN. AND I AM NOT ABOVE IT AT ALL. 

i have been drawing a lot about exclusion. And I will write more about that over the next few weeks. But the idea of exclusion got me to thinking about my weight and all the times that my body has been judged leading to social exclusion. And sometimes I am the one judging my body and excluding myself from social occasions. 

I didn't go to my 10 year high school reunion because I didn't want anyone to see how fat I had become. I was 150 lbs. and to me that meant I was a whale. 

I grew up bullied and excluded. 

So when something like this happens to me it brings up all sorts of old hurts that never seem to mend. They manage to scab but the scab keeps falling off and I bleed again before new skin has time to heal. 

TODAY A MAN TREATED ME LIKE I WAS NOTHING. LIKE I WAS A NOBODY. LIKE MY  (ACCIDENTAL) DISMISSAL OF HIM WAS CAUSE FOR A VERBAL ASSAULT. 

I was on an escalator in the mall by Mel Lastman Square. Apparently the man behind me had said hello to me. But I didn't hear him. What I DID hear was him ranting. "That fat fucking bitch can't even say hi to me. What's wrong with that fat bitch? I say hello and she can't even say hi back? Fat bitch, can't you say hi to me? What the fuck is wrong with you fat bitch?" 

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I took a breather so that you could let that sink in. Perhaps read it again. Some of you are in shock. Some of you don't care. Some of you are angry. Or protective of me. And some of you are thinking yes this happens to me too. 

Because this isn't the first time. Or the tenth. And it won't be the last. 

FAT SEEMS TO BE THE WORST THING YOU CAN CALL SOMEONE. 

The man on the escalator was not alone. He was with a friend. So was I. 

His friend was telling him to keep his voice down. Everyone around us could hear him yelling at me and they were staring. Which only brought further attention to me, to my body, and to my shame. His friend didn't tell him to stop, only to lower his voice. His friend didn't tell me he was sorry. Or ask me if I was okay. His friend stood by and let this happen. The many onlookers did nothing. Said nothing. Because fat people are fat. We are lazy, greedy, gluttonous, lumps who sit on our asses all day eating fast food. The man was just telling it like it is. 

I can hear many of you thinking that I should not give him so much power. That I am taking the rankings of a mean or unwell man. Or a man who was having a bad day. That I am taking his outburst too seriously. That I am taking it to heart. That I shouldn't let it hurt me. That I shouldn't let it bother me. That I shouldn't let it affect me. 

But it wasn't the crazy rantings of one man. It is a build up of many strangers who think it is okay to call me names with the word "fat" thrown in for good measure. Because "fat" is the clincher. 

It was the onlookers who hurt me to my core. Who allowed it to continue. To allowed him to berate me. 

Could I have turned around and said something to him? Perhaps. Would he have said he was sorry? Perhaps. From past experience, I ca only imagine he would do what others have done which would be to increase the verbal assault to full on verbal warfare. Dropping names like machine gun fire pinging at me in rapid succession and sinking into my heart. 

I was stunned into silence. And scared into submission. 

I did nothing. 

Having so many people hearing him call me names. Specifically the repetition of "fat" made me feel naked and exposed. 

And I felt like I must be a fat bitch because nobody stood up for me. Nobody stepped in. I regressed back to my bullied 13 year old self who would cry in the bathroom after the boys sang my theme song, "Hippie the Hippo".  And even when I asked for help the teachers would laugh. Because taunting is funny. 

 My friend who was with me on the escalator heard nothing. She was oblivious to the event. And I was so shamed and dehumanized and stunned, that I couldn't even tell her what had happened. I just kept walking. And I finished our visit on autopilot. 

I am fat. 

I drove home from my friend's house and decided that I would never eat again. I would starve myself and lose 100 lbs by the end of the summer. 

But I decided that the only person getting hurt in that scenario would be me. And as badly as I wanted to punish myself for being fat, that hardly seemed like the best option. 

I am fat. 

As I was thinking through the starving myself plan, it occurred to me that there was another option. Go buy a bag of chips, donuts, and ice cream and go home and eat them. In fact, go home and eat everything. IN FACT, don't stop eating at all! I could eat and eat and eat and not do any exercising at all. And get to be over 600 lbs and not be able to leave my house, possibly even my bed. And then I would have a reason to stay home permanently and never have to be seen ever, ever again. 

As I drove to 7-11 hatching my scheme for gaining at least 500 lbs, it occurred to me that this too was only going to hurt me and not the  man who harmed me. And although self-punishment is what I do best, it didn't seem like the right option either. 

I am fat. 

I had a moment where I pondered how I could make myself disappear forever so that no one could ever look at me again. Which would mean no one could ever ridicule me over my body ever again. 

But I AM fat. That's the reality. 

PP REMINDED ME TONIGHT, "you are not fat, you have fat."

I was able to practice self-care. To draw what happened to me. To write about it. instead of starving. Instead of binging. 

And through my drawing, I developed compassion for the man who hurt me. What was his life like that he has to lash out and hurt others? What was done to him to cause him so much hurt and bitterness? 

DONT MISUNDERSTAND ME. I AM FURIOUS. HOW DARE HE DEMEAN, DEHUMANIZE, AND INSULT ME. 

and at the same time, to have that much meanness and hatefulness and spitefulness in you ... It had to come from somewhere. 

I am angry. I am hurt. The qualifier "fat" will always be attached to my description. To my identity. To my experience of the world - the way I navigate the world and the way I am treated. 

I found a way to manage my emotions by drawing and writing.  

Find your outlet. 

Be kind to yourself, and for crying out loud, BE KIND TO OTHERS!!!!

xoxo

...

Dance like everyone is watching

This weekend I went dancing. 

Which is odd, because I don't dance. Not anymore. 

When I was 3, I went to see the ballet for the first time. I fell in love. It was the nutcracker and Karen Kain was the principal ballerina. So of course I HAD to take ballet lessons. 

I loved those Saturday mornings so much. Dancing brought me so much joy. I wasn't very good. I had no talent and poor coordination. As my mom often told me. But man did I love dancing. In level one ballet (so I was about 5) I got to do my exam. I passed. Not with "exceptional". But it was a pass. 

After that I wasn't invited to take anymore exams. But I was passionate. I danced my heart out. I was allowed to take level 2 and 3 ballet classes. 

At the end of my level 3 year I was told that I hadn't passed even without the exam. I was devastated. I had to repeat level 3 while all my friends moved on to level 4. The only reason I survived was that I was a younger than my classmates, so repeating level 3 meant being with girls my own age. 

At the end of my second level 3 year I stopped taking ballet lessons. I just wasn't built for that style of dancing. My turnout wasn't wide enough. My point wasn't flexible enough. My achilles tendons weren't stretchy enough. And my ankles weren't strong enough to support myself in pointe shoes. 

Instead of ballet, I joined a jazz class with my best friend. That was mostly fun. It wasn't the same as ballet, but I still got to move to the music, to stretch my muscles, and to dance my heart out. 

When it was time for costumes though, the teacher measured our waists. In front of the class. And called out our measurements. In front of the class. I was an average sized girl. But I was convinced that I was fat because of many comments from family, because of my Mom's constant dieting, because of my Dad oinking at me when I ate. 

I was still 2 years away from developing anorexia, but I was incredibly self-conscious. And I was sure that my measurements were giant. I was so embarrassed. I quit at the end of that term. 

To replace jazz, I started taking tap classes. Tap was awesome. It didn't matter that I wasn't super flexible (even after 6 years of yoga). It didn't matter that I wasn't as graceful as my ballerina friends. In tap it was more about rhythm, technique, and bouncing. And also smiling. I loved loved loved tap dancing. 

In grade 8 I had an enormous crush on a grade 13 boy that I met. I was sure that I was madly in love with him. And that we were destined to be together (Oddly, he ended up marrying one of my good high school friends). 

This boy went to a school of the arts. So obviously I had to go there too. Even though he was graduating. 

I decided to major in Music Theatre. I prepared my audition and arrived at the school ready to sing my heart out. And more importantly, ready to fake my way through the dance portion of the audition. And fake it I did. I forgot the steps. But what I lacked in talent I made up for with enthusiasm and a big smile. 

Somehow I got in. I still don't understand why. 

For the next 5 years of my life, I learned singing and dancing and acting. I performed in several shows a year. And in all that time, I was dancing. Not well. But with gusto. And it brought me joy. Performing in musicals was fun and exciting. 

After graduation I didn't take anymore dance classes. However, I was of age. I discovered bars. Specifically the one gay bar in the town where I went to university. 

This bar was my happy place. 

My friends and I would dance all night on a packed dance floor. And my passion for dancing had found an outlet where remembering steps and performing was no longer necessary. This kind of dancing was better than all my years of lessons and performances. 

There were even nights where the dance floor was empty. And I didn't care. I would dance with abandon. It felt like freedom. Moving around that floor all alone without a care in the world. Pure happiness. 

And then something changed. 

My eating disorder evolved. My binging and purging followed by bouts of starvation caught up with me. I started to gain weight. Over a period of 5 years, I gained 90 pounds. My body was completely different than it had ever been before. 

My body didn't feel the same. It didn't move the same. I didn't recognize myself. I didn't know how to exist in this body. The more weight I gained the more symptomatic I became. My cycle of starve-binge-purge became more intense. Which only made my body worse. 

I stopped dancing. 

Bars became a place of discomfort. I felt like I was being seen and judged. Always. Fat people experience the world differently than thin people. It is assumed that we are lazy. That we only eat junk and fatty greasy foods. That we eat at fast food restaurants every day. We are judged. Commented on. Stared at. And often insulted right to our faces. 

Dancing meant being seen moving a body that I was not comfortable in. It meant people seeing this body moving. I felt like I wasn't allowed to dance. That I didn't have the right to take up space in the world, let alone on the dance floor. It felt as though my mere existence wasn't allowed.

It felt like everyone around me was thin and beautiful and graceful and perfect. 

So I haven't danced for a very long time. Years. Years of lacking the strength to be seen. Years of being self-conscious of this body that I still don't recognize. This body that I mistreat with my eating disorder cycle. 

Being in this body is a challenge. 

Being in a body that I hate makes me feel like it doesn't belong to me. So the idea of getting on a dance floor and moving while people are near me and seeing me causes great anxiety. It sends me into a panic. 

When I go out "dancing" with friends, I stand on the sidelines watching. Or I stand still on the dance floor so that I'm not alone. 

When I dance in front of people in this unrecognizable body, I feel exposed. I feel like I'm naked and fat and ugly. I feel as though everyone is watching me. 

So I don't dance. 

But ... I came up with a plan: I spent a few days painting about dancing, all leading up to Saturday night. 

I promised myself that I would dance. 

I had so much anxiety about it. So much panic. It meant having a few (or more) drinks. But I did it. I went out onto that dance floor and I danced. I mean I really danced. Like I did in my 20s. Like I did when I was thin. Like I did when my body was my body. Like I did when I wasn't afraid to take up space in the world.

I danced as if I deserved to be there. 

And it felt good. 

Be kind to yourself.

xoxo

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