I’ve never felt more alienated and separated from my body in my whole life as I do now. It’s like…the instant the emotional recovery began and the realisation began to sink in, my body suddenly wasn’t mine anymore. It’s not mine. This is not my body. It may well be attached to me but I don’t recognise it, don’t like it (hate it) and I feel so isolated in these feelings…
Often during the day I have to poke my leg, to check it really is attached to my nervous system. But then I panic. I can feel the poke. That means the body is attached to me. So where has my body gone and when did this one take over? Body kidnap, and nobody can see it except me. To everyone else I look the same. But I’m not. My body has vanished. It’s been replaced with something I don’t recognise or want, and something that I’m scared of. To anyone else I sound totally crazy. Because they can’t see anything different; they can still see me. This type of body kidnap is so cruelly clever that only I can see it, and to shout about it gets me diagnosed with some body dysmorphia blah blah blah. I am not. This just simply is not my body. Mine has gone. I want mine back. I want the body back I trusted and knew, the one which carried my babies and fought on through whatever hideous trauma and survived. I want my body which protected me, the one I was proud of and grateful for. This current body I am trapped in, is not mine. It just isn’t. This isn’t body dysmorphia, this is fact. My body has been taken over by something hideous and it is a master of disguise. I want it gone. But if I say this I’ll get locked in a loony bin because nobody will believe me. They’ll all think it’s in my head but it’s not. This isn’t my body and I’m scared. I keep hurting it, hoping it’ll go away if I fight back enough. But it’s so strong. I hate it. I want my body. Help me get this thing off of me, this thing pretending to be my body 😥
I’m not eating. Or if I do eat, I throw it back up. It gives me relief. I hope that if I get skinny enough I’ll look like a little girl again, and although that being a little girl was frightening…I at least recognised my body. I think that if I can get myself to look like this again, this body that’s attacked me will be too weak and will go away. My old body will return. The one I know and recognise. I will be back in a state where I have my body back and can recognise myself and I’m no longer separated from my body by this thing. But losing weight is taking longer than I want it to. This body pretending to be mine is so strong. It mocks me. I stare at myself in a mirror and all I see is a body that’s not mine. It stares at me from the mirror and I sob with despair at the fact my body’s been kidnapped and I don’t know what to do. How can I recover if I don’t have my body? How can I possibly survive what’s round the corner? No…I need to lose weight so I starve this parasite and it leaves me…and when it leaves I will see my body in the mirror again, and we will be reunited. And then I know I’ll be okay.
Meanwhile, to show this thing that I won’t let it kidnap my body for much longer, I hurt it. So that it knows. So that my real body knows I’m fighting for it by attacking it’s captor. Whilst the weight loss is slow, fighting against this vile thing holding onto me and pretending to be my body can be instant and powerful. Sometimes it works. Sometimes I feel it shudder a bit, and I see more of my body.
I’ll get this hideous thing off me. I want my body back, and I’ll fight this body pretending to be me until I have it back. I’m so scared, and so terribly isolated with this. I hate knowing that people will think I’m crazy and they won’t actually believe me. But my body has been kidnapped. This is not my body… and I HATE it.