My Friend B (A Guest Post)

B started calling me in the fall of 2001.  At first it was innocent – quick conversations, short glances, brief encounters.  But by early 2002, the relationship was much more serious than I could have ever anticipated.  Quick conversations turned into lengthy discourse, short glances became glaring stares, and brief encounters became hours-long visits.

B knew I was vulnerable when he first contacted me. I was depressed and longing for acceptance. He sensed my weakness and offered a way of escape.  B was seemingly intuitive and caring and saw what others didn’t.  He really understood the place I was in.  He could help me feel better.  B would save me from myself.  He could rescue me.  Armed with the false hope and empty promises B provided, I was ready.  Ready to be happy, ready to feel comfortable in my own skin, ready to release all the anguish pinned up inside.  And so, I listened to B.

There were many details B failed to tell me about himself in the beginning.  For instance, he hadn’t told me that once I started talking to him I would find it difficult to rationalize and that I would obey his every command.  He had also failed to mention that each time we exchanged glances he was making a long list of things about me he wanted to change.  He also neglected to reveal his plans to ruin my life and the lives of my husband and children.  He disguised himself as one genuinely concerned for my happiness.  He cloaked himself with robes of self-discipline and perfection.  He wore slippers which made absolutely no sound, so I could never hear him coming.

By the time I figured out who B was, it was late 2002 and I was smothered by his overpowering hold.

It was too late.  There was no way out.  He had deceived me so completely that I wouldn’t have known the truth had it slapped me in the face.  I had fallen deeper into depression and self-hate rather than being freed from it.  I had become his slave.  I felt powerless against him but had nowhere to turn.  I had hidden my relationship with him. No one even knew B existed, and no one could find out.

Deep down I knew it was true.  B was a deceiver.  B was a manipulator.  B was a disease.  B was bulimia.  And, B had come to destroy my life.

(This is part 1 of 6 by Deidra; I will post part 2 next Friday. Please visit her here)

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2 thoughts on “My Friend B (A Guest Post)

  1. It’s amazing how eating disorders start so simple. So innocent. I’ll just take the top of my bun off. Feed this little bit to my toddler. Throw up just this once to make my stomach feel better and less bloated. But I’ll exercise more next time to “prepare” for my meals. And when my body hasn’t consumed enough and has exercised what little I’ve consumed off of me, and my bowels won’t move so that my stomach hurts I can justify taking these laxatives. And so in small ways I compromise. I restrict. I purge. And I think I’ll get thinner and feel better.

    I do get thinner. I somehow find myself falling down the hole of self loathing. Unable to understand why I’ve come to hate this body more than I did before. So I dedicate myself to restrict more. Exercise more. Maybe then I’ll be satisfied. And when my heart starts palpitating I should be scared. But I’m thrilled. That means I’ve succeeded. And when my hair starts falling out, well it’s a small price to pay for beauty. And when I’m nauseous with hunger, I’m proud. That means I’m not gaining weight. It’s a slow change in your mind, a tweak here and a tweak there. Until you’re the shell of the person you once were, from the inside out. And you don’t know how to get off the crazy cycle. You want free, yet you refuse any accountability that comes with getting help.

    But you can get better. A tweak here, a tweak there, and slowly, with Christ’s grace, (piece by piece) you will be made whole. Beautifully and wonderfully whole!!!!!

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