picture this
This is a picture of me--in boy undies, bra and black socks, OY!-- that I put through the photoshop ringer. I took four of these shots in the hopes that I could look at them and gross myself out enough to not eat, but so far it hasn't worked.Well, I shouldn't say that. I posted one of these on the ROARS Yahoo! site and it was there for all to see for about 24 hours. Then I panicked. I erased the photo. Of course, I also forgot that most of the people who are on the Yahoo site receive notification that NEW pictures have been posted, so for all I know, a whole gaggle of folks saw my nasty attempt at accountability. I hope no one gasped, or gagged. I'm still not sure what the whole purpose of my posting a half-naked picture of myself on THE INTERNET was all about.
My wife thinks that it's all about beating myself up. I'm not convinced that she's totally off base, and I know I can be merciless when it comes to my body. I guess I thought that taking these pictures would somehow liberate me, or at the very least compel me to be more serious about losing weight. I don't think I accomplished either with this exercise, but I have thought about the photos themselves. A lot.
When my computer times out and goes into sleep mode, I have it set so that all the photos stored on my harddrive run like a slideshow. It's fun to see what comes up--I'll walk into my office after a meeting and there's my dog, romping through the snow, or a photo from my wedding, or a fleeting glimpse of the Bitterroot at sunset. I know that one of these days I'm going to walk in and the Naked photo will be staring right back at me. I pray that no one is with me when that happens. Actually, now that I have altered the photo enough so that, in my mind, one cannot fully grasp the enormity of my body situation (or find the definitive lines), I will erase those photos from my computer. This one is all I need to remind me of the reality -- the gravity -- of the situation.
Maybe S. was right. Maybe this is my club and I am beating myself with it. I can only hope that eventually I grow tired of the incessant lack'o'compassion and the negtalk and start to see myself more clearly. For now, this is what I see. I'm blinking hard, trying to focus on what is really there. What is really there. What is. Really.
posted by forward hope @ 10:28 AM
3 comments
3 Comments:
There's What's Really There, and then there's the reflection of What's Really There, and then there's the Reflection Upon What's Really There.
In my many years in therapy, we talked about mirroring and the need to be seen. For me, this was usually relative to my family
unit, but as I've learned over the past, oh, say, decade, I need to see myself.
So what were you showing yourself: the physical, the body, as it was on this particular day? Or can you see the person seeking to document self, inquisitive, maybe confronting fear, and ultimately striving for connection (that's what we do when we photograph, no?)
Mildly deconstructed (and forgive my deconstructionist tendencies), it looks like love to me.
xox
your blogmate(y),
stine
There's this progression, or at least there was for me:
Being alarmed at what I saw.
Making it disappear so that I didn't have to see it.
Living for a long time without a body.
Realizing that in order to live, I had to recognize (again) that I had a body.
Having all the demons come up and dance around my head to the tune of the HORROR of what I was *making* myself look at.
Growing very tired of the hatred and the cruelty.
Seeking and finding the places where compassion came in and naming them.
Following compassion to acceptance (or) love
Following acceptance (or) love to
love (or) acceptance
And then the vigilence to protect these fragile new patterns against the interloper of my most shadowy selves.
And finally the evolution.
Finally the shift.
It will occur, just like the five stages of grief; eventually you move through them all and come out the other side.
There is an other side.
I promise.
love,
the other M
FoHo,
A gifted friend once told me that we cannot rid ourselves of anything we hate. These things will return to us again and again, until we complete the process to let it go with love. This changes that thing we "hate" or "fear" and allows it to be given away ... as a gift to the great unknown, a sort of Salvation Army of spiritual lessons.
Our work is to love those juicy bits goodbye.
Rhonni
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