In Memory (Please Read)

 A while back, I was asked by a dear friend of mine to work on a very special project. I was asked to write a play in memory of a woman who passed away from eating disorder brought on by an abusive relationship. The subject was near and dear to my heart, but what I didn’t realize was how much it would help me heal from my own wounds. I was asked to share my story as an epilogue to show that the wreckage from abuse comes in all shapes, and all sizes. Yes, our situations are different–she died from the complications of anorexia, but my bulimia and binge eating are going to do the exact same thing if I didn’t try to make a change now. While I had wanted to start making changes in my life to stop my eating disorder for a long time, writing this play and dealing with the emotions that came up were a real jump start to the entire process. The follow is an excerpt, my personal story, the epilogue:

Of course, our relationship started out like a fairytale, like so many of them do. I can still honestly say that even to this day the most romantic things a man has ever done for me–were done by the man that later beat the crap out of me. He did make me feel wanted, beautiful, even desired, despite being a plus sized girl. His name was John, and I loved him more than I’d ever loved anyone before, or after.

I can’t even remember what the fight was about, or what I said to make him so mad… but he grabbed me by the throat and pinned me against a bathroom door that swung the opposite way. It’s amazing how it all feels like it happened in some Matrix-like slow motion. I remember having conversations with myself as he was pounding his fists onto my chest, grabbing my stomach, and beating on my arms. At one point I remember both his hands on my throat, and the room got darker and darker. I thought for a moment, “This is it. I’m going to die, and he is going to leave me here.” Then the conversation in my head went to the month on martial arts I took in middle school… I broke his grip on my neck, only to have him lock my arms and bite my cheek. You could actually SEE teeth marks for a day or two.

The whole ordeal ended about 5am, and I had class in three hours. My face had little teeth marks that were still pretty red, so there was no way I could go anywhere. I stayed in my room most of the time, not out of fear, but because I felt like everyone knew, and it was my fault. The fat girl drove him to do it, pushed him and fought with him and gave him no other choice.  A few days after, the weather was beautiful and I felt like dressing up–because I just wanted to feel normal again, like everything was going to be ok. I put on my favorite white dress and went for a walk. The problem was, a friend stopped me along the sidewalk and looked absolutely terrified– he could see the bruises all over my body through the dress. I looked like a leopard…

The things I loved about me were no longer mine. It all had him attached, everything was tainted. I lost about 30 pounds in the two weeks after we broke up and when I ran into him, he said he barely recognized me. And the thing he said to me that rings as clear in my head today as the day he said it:

“I told you I’d help you lose weight one way or another.”

I’ve gained 200 pounds since then. I would binge, and then use a cocktail of diet pills, antidepressants, anti-anxiety meds, diuretics and laxatives— anything I could get my hands on. I will binge and binge and nothing ever seems to fill the void, I just can’t stop.  

I’m not going to lie to you and tell you that the pain goes away. I also can’t tell you on good conscience that every day gets easier because there are good days and bad. Writing this play was incredibly difficult for me and it made me realize that the story might change, but the pain doesn’t. Each day that goes by without a binge, without me screaming and crying for no reason at all, and each moment I don’t think about John and that night has to be counted as a success. I can only hope that by telling Sharon’s story, along with my own, I can help build awareness for the link between abuse and these self-destructive behaviors. I have to try every day to convince myself that I’m worth keeping, I’m worth loving, I’m worth more than what he led me to believe. And so are you.

For more information about the Sharon Fisher Bassett Memorial Fund,

and the play “A Rose for Sharon” visit http://sharonfisherbassett.org/