Ugly

I binged last night. Meaty spaghetti sauce, raw almonds, and two green apples comprised my second dinner at 10:30, just before bed. I had spent a wonderful evening with my brother and sister-in-law and their three precious kids, and when I got home, I ate with a ferocity I wish I could forget. I didn't make myself sick this time, but the healthy groceries I bought with such measured attention are now dwindling. 

I wish I wouldn't do it. I wish I wouldn't give in to the feelings of loneliness and emptiness and the looming question of whether I'll ever have a happy family like my brother's. I wish I would acknowledge the pain of coming home to an empty apartment, comforting myself as the books on self-compassion suggest:

"I'm sorry you're feeling lonely, dear," I could say. "It's OK to feel lonely after seeing and feeling such a peaceful family environment. It's even normal, given your background, to feel envious of the tender mothering your niece and nephews receive. It's understandable that you would crave it for yourself, and that when you get home, being by yourself feels too much to handle. You will get through this. You can make choices that you will be proud of tomorrow."

I know I can do it, and I hope I will. I hope I won't have another day like today, when I woke up and remembered with disgust how in a fleeting search for emotional comfort I'd wasted my efforts to stay at 120 pounds. Granted, my workout yesterday included a steep 5-mile hike, but I'm fairly certain the binge is a setback in my endless quest for the perfect body.

"I don't have to be perfect," I keep telling myself. But I still want to be. "I don't have to have flat abs to be loved." But I still want them. I want to be special, to be beautiful, because I think that being beautiful will get me closer to being loved.

And then there's the line I've repeated to myself since anorexia took a firm hold in my mind at 13: "If I can't be pretty, I'll at least be smart and skinny." How can I get rid of that one, when it's still what I think? I still think I'm ugly, still feel just as insecure as I did in middle school. I quake inside at the thought of what others think of me, even though I tell myself over and over it doesn't matter what they think. I stare at myself in the mirror hoping to see a prettier face than the one I have.

I look at myself and envy everyone else for being more beautiful than I am. What does self-compassion say in response? "You are uniquely beautiful"? That seems fake, smacking of a positive band-aid for the wound of ugliness God has dealt me.

"I'm sorry you feel ugly" is about all I can think of. "It's hard to feel ugly and alone and wonder if you will ever be attractive to anyone. I'm sorry you're scared of being lonely the rest of your life. What could you do to feel less ugly?"

Still not good enough. I'm not tapping into the depths of my skewed thinking as I want to. God of the universe, I ask for healing. I turn to you because I am confounded by my deep-seated belief that looks are everything, that being ugly or beautiful or just mediocre is the linchpin of happiness. I've asked you for healing many times before, so I don't trust you to deliver; but I have no choice but to turn to you. Please answer and help me.