All Eating Disorders Are Not The Same, or Why I Don’t Eat

A long time ago, when I was younger and much thinner, I sat across from a doctor’s desk and listened to him tell me I was afraid of being fat. That I was anorexic. I just didn’t realize it. I had an eating disorder and needed to come to terms with it.

He was close. I was but a whisper of a memory of a girl. Why should he think differently? My complaints of chest pain and other symptoms were ignored. While, in truth, I had bigger problem: a hole in my heart. One that grew as I did, and still wouldn’t be found for a few years yet.

It was anxiety and weight loss they wanted to discuss. The antidepressants I was on only made my lightheaded presence more vacant, as slowly I sank into a sickness no one understood. I simply had no appetite, and desired no food. I didn’t feel hunger after a point. But not eating was a small part of it.

And even after I had surgery to correct this slowly unticking bomb of death in my chest, some things didn’t change.

I still have that “food thing.” The only thing I can say for sure is that I am not afraid of getting fat. Believe me. A little meat never hurt anyone, neither did sit ups and if my jeans get to tight, I cut down on sweets. That is my diet. I don’t analyze it. I don’t count calories or avoid them. If I am hungry, I’ll eat. But I have to be in a good mood. That’s my problem.

For me, stress and hunger go together like bait and tackle. I can’t imagine being worried or sad and putting ANYTHING, no matter how appetizing or sweet, into my mouth. It’s as if the stress sits in my stomach, in the pit of my hunger and says NO… THAT IS SICKENING. The scary part is that after all these years my brain is used to that… I never question myself and say, but why can’t I have a sandwich, I’m hungry?

Until I have calmed down, the argument has ended or I have figured out the solution to my problem, that sandwich isn’t even going to get made. I wonder sometimes if the anxiety I feel about food is why I cannot learn to enjoy cooking. It seems dreadful, like a chore. You would think most artistic people would like to mix and measure and create something delicious. But not me. I can eat half of it before I am through cooking, if I eat. Sometimes I just stand at the counter and eat until I’m done. No TV, relaxing or sittting down with a book. I just don’t want to feel hungry anymore.

Maybe it started out being a frail, nervous child who was harassed about the amount of food she ate at dinner. Not just the amount but the type. I was picky, but not allowed to be. I couldn’t eat what I liked without a dose of something that made me want to hurl. I was made to eat things that could not have been as important to my diet as the arguments they caused. 

So I learned that eating and relaxation didn’t go hand in hand. If my mind was too busy, or scared, or angry, my stomach would close up. I have stress-induced fasts. I know it isn’t healthy that they can go on for days, like recently, getting used to Stephen being gone. Really gone. Dylan cooking for himself only undermines my motivation to actually do it myself.

Lately, even if I feel hungry, my mind feels sick. I know that I can’t get it down. I wonder if other people have that problem. I just am disgusted by food I would ordinarily love. Like denying myself this coveted morsel will somehow give me clarity. No matter how physically hungry I get, I know it will pass, and when your mind refuses it, you just wait it out. Sometimes I don’t eat… I have issues. So what?

At least it isn’t because I fear fat. I do however, fear green beans and carrots.

Experienced Musician Not Just Chic Drummer

Dammit, I never say I give up, but I GIVE UP! The one thing I have tried to keep from my old life with my husband has been music. I play drums, which any musician or imaginative person can tell, is only so much fun alone. Some people play alone alot, along with CDs and cover songs. I just don’t enjoy that as much, finding that I drown out whatever I am listening to.

After almost a year of running an ad for a bass player answered by several complete nuts, or promising creative talents (who can tell?) nothing came of it. I cancelled it last week. After putting bulletins up on MySpace, networking around and posting on other musician forums, I came to one conclusion. Of the people I talked to, only one was a female acoustic guitar player. The rest were men. And I realized slowly that no one was taking me seriously, not as far as music was concerned.

One who decided that not only would it be great to jam together “sometime”, but for me to take control of his awkward virginity and teach him everything I knew. There were a couple whose long-haired metal appearance threw me off, and surprise! they wanted me to play ska or metal. One has piercings, a snake and asked me if I could see myself fucking him the second time we talked. And he’d love to play… as soon as he got his guitar fixed.

The only real paying gig I got a shot at was playing country music, and the more I listened to Brooks and Dunn, the closer I came to backing out, which is what I did. This followed up by three weeks of talking to a guy I really liked, only to find that he wanted me to come to his place (where my studio is NOT) and he needed a designated driver to go out… so needless to say we never actually got around to playing music.

I wish I could convince my old guitar player Corey to come back, but I’m afraid the musical chemistry was more between him and my husband… whose absence is felt the most when I look at the building where we used to make so much great noise, our instruments turned up to 11, everyone thrashing around in their own little worlds, only to come together at some predetermined moment and look at each other, knowing that nowhere was anyone rocking or rolling as hard or as well as we were at that moment.

I miss my former bass player Bobby. I have a lot of guesses as to why he wandered away from us, but no real reasons. And that hurts sometimes. Fellow musicians become like family. It is an experience shared that bonds you.

And I feel like I won’t find anyone that understands that. Who wants to play the same music I do. Who takes me seriously as a singer and drummer. Not see me as a chic who might go out with them, and oh yeah, she plays music. It is really sad that I actually thought about selling my drums today or giving them to my husband, because they are technically half his. I just felt like I wouldn’t ever go back down to the studio, run in while the band was already playing, take my place and jump in.

There is just silence now.

No Honor In Killing

Once, I heard a man that I deeply respect, who had already experienced the death of a son state matter-of-factly that he would rather one of his children “die than marry a nigger.” Likewise, had I dated a boy of any other race during my younger years, my father would have gotten his gun out.

It is that kind of thinking that has resulted in the death of the beautiful 25 year-old Sandeela Kanwal, who lived in Georgia, within the borders of what is supposed to be a free country. However, abiding by her father’s wishes, she went to Pakistan and was married to a man she didn’t know, much less love. This tradition and cultural differences created a tense situation when Sandeela’s father demanded this of her. And when Sandeela decided she wanted out, and dared to speak of divorce, her father strangled her to death. Chaudhry Rashid, 56, feared that his daughter’s resistance to the marriage would disgrace the Pakistani-American family.

So much for parental love.

“Honor killing” is the term used for the slaying of a woman or girl by  her own family members thought to be bringing shame to the family. These killings are usually done secretly, or they are covered up, making it difficult to determine how frequently they actually occur. Way back in September 2000, the United Nations Population Fund estimated that as many as 5,000 women and girls fall victim to murder by family members each year. Some are killed because of suspisicion, some are killed because they are victims of rape or other abuses, and some are killed because they dared to make an individual choice.

It is tragic and almost surprising to most of us here in America that the need for control over one’s children would dictate such horrible acts. Then again, look at the racism and bigotry here in our own country. Tradition and hatred combined seem to justify a lot of unspeakable things.

In this case, it is the father who has disgraced his country, his family, his name and ultimately, his daughter. I hope every time he closes his eyes at night, he sees her face. She will never age, have children or pursue her dreams. According to the Pakistani way of thinking, she had no right to those things. She was not in control of her own life. In the end, it was her own father that took it from her. Rest in peace, Sandeela.