Body image has always been a tricky one for me. It's not about being perfect or skinny or taller or anything in particular, it's about hating what I see! I know a lot of people, women especially have a gripe about one, two or many parts of their body, but to look in the mirror and literally want to get a knife and slice it up is what I feel on a daily basis.
I have been like this all of my adult life, in fact since my teens and am now 41! All I ever wanted was to find someone who could accept me, someone who could love me and someone with whom I would spend the rest of my life with, but I never thought it possible. I had been told that because of my eating disorder, my restricting my diet and abuse of laxatives, I wouldn't be able to have babies and I had accepted that. I loved children and had been a nanny for 10 years for 2 families, I treated them and was treated by them as family until the anorexia and chronic depression became too big a part of my life and I couldn't continue! I was devastated.After 12 months of trying to get my life back together I decided that I would fulfill one more dream, to travel to Australia. I saved, I packed and I planned and eventually in March 2000 I left my family in the UK and came to Oz. Here is where my life took a massive turn. I met a man. I met a man who loved me. He "adored me" and he was willing to promise to grow old with me. Finally I had a purpose. It seemed things were on the up. We got married in 2002, in the UK and in 2003 we moved to Brisbane. It all seemed fine. I had told my husband that I had had problems in my past, but he said that whatever had happened had made me the person I was today and that was who he loved, to me that said I don't need to go any further, I would never have to tell him! Honestly what planet did I come from?
So move to 2005, I get pregnant!!!! I couldn't believe it. It wasn't supposed to happen and my husband had said he didn't want it to happen. He didn't want children, which was fine, as I couldn't have them. I didn't know how he was going to take the news, but eventually he came around. During my pregnancy, I chose to stop taking my antidepressants. I wanted my baby to have a healthy start in life and I didn't know what the medications would do to him. I also ate healthily and loved my bump, ever growing, ever moving and although the body image issues were always there, I knew I had to nourish this new life so I had to take care of myself. So 9 months on my beautiful son was born. He was perfect, I could not remember a day that I didn't feel happier! For the next 14 months I nursed my son, I was aware of the baby weight I had gained, but it didn't seem to matter. Look what I had produced, look what my body was feeding and helping to grow, everything really was fine.
Then I weaned my son and it all went crashing down to the ground again.
The negative talk began soon after weaning my little man, I was fat, I was disgusting, I wasn't worthy of life, but now I had a dilemma! I hated living, I hated my life, but I adored my baby. I could not end my life, I had to keep going for him. When he was 22 months old, we talked about having a brother for our boy. My family were all so far away and my husbands family were close by, but not really into family at all (Which I will never ever get my head around). We agreed that we would go again and hey presto, we got pregnant immediately.
This time the pregnancy was easier. I wasn't working full-time, I had a beautiful boy to look after already, who was the light of my life. I quickly had the pregnant look, rather than the flabby look and loved it. After 9 months and an extremely quick labour I gave birth to a second boy. A gorgeous little perfect man.
So what now? My life should be fine. I have two incredibly beautiful (yes I am biased) boys, a husband who adores me, I don't have to go back to work for a while at least. We have a house, food on the table and I am blessed with a lot of wonderful friends. Yes I miss my family and friends in the UK, but I can talk to them and hopefully every few years we can go to see them. Again I breastfeed my boy for 15 months, which I love, but then I stop. About 6 months after stopping the feeding, I begin to feel different! I don't want my husband to touch me, I definitely don't want him to look at me. My patience with the boys is shorter, although I would never hurt them, I find myself being a bit more on edge when I am around them. One day, I go to my GP for my overdue pap smear and whilst I am lying down, legs up, I lose it. I fall apart. I cannot stop crying. I am so tense, the doctor can't perform the procedure. Then it all comes out, how I feel, my depression, my suicidal thoughts and sometimes plans, my stress levels with my body image and feelings towards my poor husband.
For the next 6 months or so, I had weekly or more visits to the GP I could not eat, I just wanted to curl up in the corner of a room and never wake up again, but I could not leave my sons. Who would take care of them? I started taking antidepressants again, starting at a low dose but gradually increasing it. I began restricting my food intake and taking laxatives daily. People began to notice. They asked questions. My friends were concerned which made me feel even more guilty and so the cycle would begin again. My doctor got me into a eating disorder program at a hospital and they wanted me admitted, but somehow I manage to avoid it. My weight was down to 43 kg and I think if I had lost 1kg more I was in, but luckily I got past that kilo. But then it stopped. The doctor at the hospital was
moving on and she could not refer me onto her successor and so I was on my own again.
It has now been about 18 months since I first admitted it all to my doctor. I am STILL on the antidepressants ( still increasing them too), I still hate myself, I still want to die, I still take laxatives daily and restrict my food (but only you know this). I still cringe when my husband comes near me and I still love every hair on my sons heads and that is what is keeping me alive. I have daily suicidal thoughts. I can see myself cutting my wrists, driving too fast around a corner, taking an overdose. It is a struggle to get up in the morning, to motivate myself and to smile, but that is what I have to do.
I am a Mum first and foremost to a 6 year old and a 4 year old boy. They need me and I thank God that they do.
~ Anonymous~
