Cardinal sins

Cardinal, adjective
1: Of basic importance

August 15, 2021, from my journal:
« It’s been two months since I’ve been deteriorating both physically and mentally […] I’d like to take stock of the past months […] »

Well, a year or so later, I’m ready to take stock. The past few months I talk about in the excerpt were characterized by an eating disorder so intense that it haunted my thoughts and tore at my body for over a year. In May 2021, I lost seventeen pounds in two weeks, and watching my bones become more and more visible caused an addiction in me, leading to restriction, which I refused to admit (we often refuse to admit we have a problem) and which I disguised and named « eating healthy. » Except I wasn’t eating healthy. I was hardly eating at all.

It all started in April 2021, with an ending (as it often does). The end of my first real love relationship, the one that shook me up and made me grow. It lasted 4 years, we lived together (it was serious). 

It was going very well until it wasn’t. It wasn’t okay because when it was bad, we just shut up and waited for it to pass. We just shoved our problems under the bed we shared. It worked for quite a while, it « passed », until it didn’t. Until what was supposedly « past » came to hold me by the throat in the present (and not just about the relationship). Until I felt something in my body that my head couldn’t understand directly. 

When there is a disagreement between the body and the mind, things get complicated and silence settles in the throat like a giant in front of you during a concert. You try to see through it, you can pick up the music but you can’t see anything, you don’t understand who is doing what, you can’t figure out how to define the things you hear because you are blinded, blocked.

I say my body because in my head I didn’t want distance, in my head there was no reason for anything to go wrong, we love each other so what’s the problem? I’m fine so why wouldn’t it be? Yet, before the act, my body froze. It was as if my body was angry at someone or something. As if it was rebelling. As if it didn’t want to give itself anymore. Even to the one I loved. I did not understand anything. The incomprehension was piling up like a pile of dirty clothes that you throw on the desk chair in your room and neglect until the pile eventually spills. 

I get angry at this body before I realize I haven’t expressed myself enough. I thought I had forgotten things that made me angry, then I realized that it was actually that I hadn’t really forgiven everything. I couldn’t lay down, I couldn’t take, I couldn’t give, I couldn’t sleep with the man I loved. It was just a feeling that almost blew up my brain that I was trying so hard to hold in my skull. My mind felt helpless against this feeling that was taking over my body, all my movements and senses. There was no giant in front of me with his back to me, but four giants, acting like bodyguards; no, walls, walls that I wanted to push one by one without being able to move my arms to do it, without being able to open my mouth to say it. I hear everything and I don’t understand anything. I feel things in my body but my head misinterprets, my mind is in total incomprehension in front of these physical sensations. I find it hard to put them together. 

I did not want things to end between us but my body shouted it’s over. My partner understood and freed me from this dichotomy about my love for him and my difficulty in exercising it, by ending our relationship. 

It was hard, and I think we always suffer from a love breakup caused by lack of communication. I think it hurts to realize that love isn’t actually enough. That it could have worked if only we had talked. More talking. Because we walked, we ate, we slept, we cuddled, we ran, we drank, we laughed, we sang, we danced, we philosophized, we remade the world without worrying about our shared world. Things were taken for granted because there was love between us. It was beautiful and it was easier that way. Clearly it wasn’t enough. We both didn’t like uncomfortable topics. I know how much we loved each other but I think I needed to hear it. Like this, in a raw way, I love you, I love you, I love you. I shared his world, I knew it by heart, I was part of it. I wanted him to discover more of my world, I wanted him to know my world. I tried very little and then after a few postponements, the next time, another day, I stopped trying.

I don’t think either of us tried hard enough and in the end I was lonely. I would go dancing alone, I would go to parties alone, I would go to lunches, dinners, alone. My father would often ask me during family gatherings on Sundays where my boyfriend was, and I would say that he was busy (actually I had stopped proposing a long time ago) and I would assure him that these things are done alone anyway. That it’s okay not to drag my boyfriend to family lunches. He didn’t respond. That’s because he didn’t understand. I understand now. When you share your life with someone, it’s not just a bed you share. It’s friends, family, outings. On both sides. He only knew my world through me. He has no experience of this world. Anyway. I decided to be alone in some way.
That disappointment that my body had expressed as rejection was resentment towards myself. I resented myself. Before we broke up I couldn’t say anything. While we were breaking up I couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t hear anything more than this silence, which had been omnipresent for a while.

I often suffer in silence. The absurdity of things comes to choke me, grabs me by the throat, and tears come to my eyes, I try to hold them back as I hold my breath already cut off, choked by a sob I wouldn’t let out, I let the tears run down my cheeks silently instead. Tears are so discreet. They are drops of water that fall from our eyes, that widen on our cheeks creating a kind of path on the face, often signifying a lot of agitation. A volcano in eruption. Like the wax of a candle being consumed by the flame, I burst into tears. I mutely melt into tears. I pinch my lips together and place my hand over my mouth to contain the hurricane that forms in my throat. Emotion blunts my voice but the silence breaks my ears and I only know how to cry for myself. I cry from being tied up by the throat like a hanged man. I try to get something out of my stomach but it’s knotted and I hate myself for it. I don’t understand.   

I never said anything to him but worse, I never said anything to myself (I barely understood either). And not only in this situation, in many others. In the sense that I was always questioning those lumps in my throat or those urges to cry, to scream. Total denial. Why do you get angry? Why do you want to complicate things? For nothing, there is no reason to be sad. You always want to complicate things, it’s incredible. Stop thinking about it, you are so sensitive. No one around you wants to hurt you intentionally, so don’t be sensitive. Chin up. Be thankful you didn’t screw it up already, problematic as you are. Crazy as you are. Be thankful.

And it’s true. I am, He is exceptional. And we loved each other, we really loved each other. It was so true that after us I didn’t understand anything about myself. I didn’t understand my reality anymore. Everything that was real for me came from us. I didn’t even understand how it was possible for me to be so in love with him and at the same time not want to be in total intimacy with him. To not be able to. I told myself (as I often do) that I am completely crazy, that I don’t deserve so much love. I am a storm that devastates hearts, self-destructive too, I ravage my heart. I ruined everything. That annoying voice holding that speech came out in every situation, even when I felt I was being wronged, that stupid voice would come screaming in my ears to shut up. I also realized this was not about my relationship, it was so much more than that.

Economic and social crisis, no more money, no more work, no more home, no more companion. No career, little ambition, need to survive.
My head broken, my heart broken, my body… My body. All of a sudden I have so much rage against my body and I don’t understand why. I want to strangle this body, suffocate it.

I forgot to breathe and I threw myself into the arms of Doux who welcomed me warmly. He has expressive eyes. Blue. Deep. A little brown encircling the pupil. He is deep. Really beautiful.
With his tenderness, it was pretty intense in bed. Fiery. I wanted that relentlessness, that fury unleashed upon me. I wanted to feel. Something. Things. To feel my insides. I became addicted to this mixture of pleasure and pain. Without it I felt anesthetized. Numb. Only that, my yoga practice and Seka, my best friend (with whom I was living at the time, now my companion) kept my senses functioning. I ate very little, greedy as I was with this body. I smoked a lot. I was addicted to this feeling of hunger, I liked to starve my body. I thought it deserved it. Hearing the gurgling of my belly, that poor belly that begged me to feed it, and that I kept punishing. I think Doux saw my fragility, but because I talked him out of it, he got caught up in my emotional tornado, we flew high, I felt things, I got scared, I burned his wings and slammed his heart into the ground. With this outburst I returned to my « comfortable » state of self-contempt. It was as if he gave me reasons to like myself and I didn’t want them, instead I only wanted to hate myself, and it was easier when there was an excuse. I’m mean, brusque and aggressive. You’re better off without me, believe me I only know how to disappoint.

I have rage against my body. A rage that only a victim can feel against his tormentor. This body. This woman’s body that only causes my misfortune. Fragile, that we only look at, scrutinize, that only knows how to perform sexually and that is only used for that. This body that has been abused, that has been violated, that only hurts.
I didn’t eat and I gave myself unceasingly. After Doux, there was Noci, who one day, well after this summer, violently reminded me that it was not normal not to eat, who stopped touching me and just changed our relationship like that (he became one of my best friends today). Lust is overrated.

One day, towards the end of that summer, I woke up with my eyes completely puffy, and physically extremely tired. Really tired. I took two pills, silenced this body and continued to work hard: still no food, not so much sex anymore since I had fucked everything up with everyone.

Two weeks later, after the two daily hours of yoga, I felt a sharp pain in my upper abdomen, on the left, and I couldn’t swallow my saliva anymore. My eyes were still puffy weeks later, despite the cortisol pills, and I started seeing a rash on my skin, my thighs were filled with bumpy red patches. Maybe it’s time to go to the doctor (you think?).
« Open your mouth, ma’am, » he says, placing his little flat wooden stick on my tongue. The doctor tells me that my throat is completely full of nodes. He puts his hand on my upper abdomen, on the left, and tells me that if I hadn’t come in today and worked out tomorrow, my spleen could have exploded and I would have been rushed on a stretcher to the hospital. Blood tests revealed that I was positive for mononucleosis.
« I don’t know how you kept going at that pace for two weeks when you’re clearly sick. Mononucleosis usually nails people to their bed. You know, you don’t have to get used to certain pains, it’s just a matter of getting checked out. You got lucky this time. »

It’s funny how you can be forgiving, empathetic, and understanding of others and not give yourself the right to be so for yourself. And I realize that no one can hurt me like I hurt myself. Not even that crazy guy who raped me. Not even those people who have never believed, and will never believe in me. Not even my best friend K who betrayed me. Nothing can hurt me like I hurt myself. I am the victim and the tormentor.
I felt resentment. A form of resentment mixed with hostility towards that which I identified as the cause of my suffering and frustration. I identified the cause as my body, because it was hard to accept that some people are capable of certain things, that some people can hurt me and that it is legitimate to get angry, to shout and to condemn. I let a lot go. So I identified the cause of some of my suffering to my body, and I made it suffer in turn. I then fell into a vicious cycle (because not eating was not sustainable). So, I didn’t eat for two days and on the third day I binged on anything edible. I punished myself for two days and the third day I rebelled. Restriction, fasting, gluttony, repeat.

Excerpt from my diary, April 26, 2022: (Beirut, Lebanon)
« I miss you so much mam, it’s hard to go through these things without you. I need to see your smile, to hear your voice, to feel the warmth of your body against mine. I know you’re guiding me and I swear I’m just looking for you, I know you’re inside me. I’ll never feel lonely as long as my heart beats, it beats for you. You beat inside me. I live for you. Every celebration is also a mourning. Whether it’s because it’s the end of something or the beginning, you’re not physically there and I’m constantly grieving that absence. That’s a lot of grieving. This life can be rough. I often find myself attacking myself, putting myself down, doubting myself, insulting myself, blaming myself, thinking I’m ugly, stupid, incapable, and drowning it all out by pushing these feelings deep into my gut by gorging myself. I am slowly learning to understand that I can take up space. There is room. I’m not an imposter. I keep dancing mam. I dance to the rhythm of your voice, your laughter. I am never alone. I know you are with me. I swear I feel you flowing through my veins. I swear to you mam I don’t have the words anymore, I don’t have the words anymore I can’t stand the words that all these people say I want to hear you I need to hear you I’m lost. I can’t stand the friendly, sensual, fatherly hugs anymore, I want your motherly touch. Sometimes I feel that this lack of you, this difficulty to find you when I am lost, makes the devil inhabit me for some time. How evil I can be. I swear I try to extract these demons. I feel that I disappoint and I want to disappoint again just to provoke. I don’t want to be held in any esteem. I have no esteem. I am violent towards myself, abusive. Peace is really hard to keep. »

After all that lamenting, I moved to Canada and met some musicians I moved in with. We built a family. The eating disorder was still present, but every time I started to go into an episode, the music coming from the living room would take me out of it. After that winter, I dropped everything (for the umpteenth time), went to do my Yoga Teacher Training and when that was done I packed a bag and went to work at a hostel in Sicily for the summer 2022. There was nothing but the sun, the sea, the mountains and trees. Really nice people too, from the four corners of the planet. This summer, I freed myself. Free the body, free the mind. And then let go of what no longer serves you. Spread your wings and fly.

Excerpt from my diary on May 17, 2022: (Sicily, Italy)
« I am literally free. I like this life on the island very much. The days are long and the sun shines overhead constantly. The people around me would have been weirdos to me before, but the lifestyle they strive to maintain makes so much sense to me. Yesterday we went free climbing on a rock. Ropes, shoes, and all the gear were unnecessary, we were in our swimsuits, attached to the rock only by our bare hands and feet. There was this rock, and under our feet, the sea. Falling off the rock would only cause us to fall into the sea (unnecessary equipment). It was the first time I climbed in my bathing suit, barefoot, without protection. It’s crazy. The first time I felt my hands too tired to hold on and wanted to let go, I had a second of reflection and thought about the fact that if it was dirt underneath me, my body would have shattered into a thousand pieces on the ground. Then I thought about the fragility of life, again and again. Its ephemeral nature, how many times I wanted to leave it, to go away, to give up. How in spite of everything I cling to it unceasingly, how much I love this bitch, this life.”

My fingers are getting tired, my hands can’t hold my body anymore, I’m stuck (we are never stuck). I held my breath, count to 7, because it’s my favorite number, and I let go. I flew (for a few seconds), and the sea welcomed me in its warm and salty arms. Those arms made me think of the warmth of hugs from people I love. We always make it through, with family, friends. If you’re lucky, really good friends. In my case, the best friends, brothers and especially sisters. The real saviors in this life.

« The hearts of those we love are our true home. »

Christian Bobin

And then, my faith, my religion: you. My reason for living, Mom.
You had, you have youth in you.

You keep me going, Mom, you hold my life together, always in the process of splintering. You taught me love in madness, hope in heartbreak, gaiety in sadness. You give me so many reasons to believe in so many things. To believe.

« What I call youth is life, absolute life, life confounded with the despair of love and gaiety. Despair, love, gaiety, who has these three roses stuck in his heart has youth for him, in him, with him. I always perceived you with these three roses, hidden, oh so little, under your true sweetness. Love was undoubtedly in you since your birth, as was its little sister, gaiety. »

Christian Bobin

Excerpt from my diary on July 12, 2022: (Sicily, Italy)
“I feel that I am beginning to heal from a great wound that I have not necessarily known how to handle. Let’s be honest (or rather be honest, between you and yourself) I had been suffering from an intense eating disorder for the past year. I really abused my body, after it was abused, I didn’t know what else to do. I starved it and then stuffed it to the brim. This state of violent exaltation, of madness, which leads to the worst excesses, I was confronted with it in spite of myself and I only knew how to reproduce it voluntarily. There is something that I try to get out, to find in my guts, to feel something, anything. The desire to live. I believe that you have to have guts, you have to have it in your stomach to live. And to live as you want. To stop when you want to stop. To let go of everything, to destroy everything, to deconstruct everything and start again. To let go, to let go. To rebuild. To always rebuild, to rebuild yourself. I really believe that one must live without stopping. That you can live non-stop, lots of things. That it is enough to get closer to the earth, to the water, to the sky, to try to reach it, to touch it. Climb that mountain to the top, then let go and roll down the mountain to find yourself at its feet again. And do it again. »

Life is irresistible, full of tastes, colors, shapes and textures, and I want to taste it over and over again. Struggling is part of it. So is death. Thank you life.

Amen.

—used to express solemn ratification (as of an expression of faith) or hearty approval (as of an assertion)