The horror movie, The Ring, premiered when I was in high school. Now, I love horror movies but when that girl came out of the TV screen I screamed for my mommy. The following story will not be nearly as graphic but can be just as scary for some of us.
Once we returned home, I picked out a better fitting engagement ring that hugged my finger just enough. I knew my boney knuckle would keep that sucker in place. As I started to lose weight during the lead-up to the wedding, the gap between my ring and finger widened but never reached code red limits. I knew it would say on my hand just like Matt would stay in my life.
We exchanged new rings at the wedding. Standing in the middle of that beautiful Arlington
Park paddock with the decades-old trees and rustic saddling stalls shielding us from the cool autumn mist, Matt slipped the beautiful black band on my left hand. The tears poured down my ugly crying face. Yeah, I was not a pretty crier that day lol! We committed our lives to each other and reaffirmed our unwavering love in front of our hundred close friends and family members.
But orthorexia wanted nothing to do with it. It wanted me all to itself. There was no room for love for me, for Matt or for anything else other than what I ate, how much I exercised and what my body looked like. As the illness took full hold during the first part of 2020, my bitterness towards the world increased. The pandemic ripped the rug out from me as I fell into the dark, cold dungeon of orthorexia. I sought control over the situation and could only see the worst in people.
While my love for the world and myself shrunk so did my fingers. My wedding ring loosened. It seemed to know I was losing love. Our harmless bickering episodes morphed into emotional fights. My actions and behaviors hurt myself and those around me, including Matt. I had lost touch with the man he had married just several months before. I was angry and couldn’t explain why. Food and exercise consumed me, I had no room for anything else because it seemed these were the only two items I could control. And I needed control for fear of history repeating itself!
I watched my ring grow more wobbly by the day. A sign that my body and soul were evaporating. Matt saw it too. When he eventually approached me about my unhealthy relationship with food and unresolved pain from my younger days, I didn’t put up a fight. There was no fight because I did need help. I wanted help because I missed myself, too.
As I continue to repair my body from years of abuse, I’ve noticed how snug my ring has become. When I take it off to shower, I actually have to twist and give a tiny yank. This is a far cry from the insecure grip it had just months ago. As my body rebounds so does my mind, soul and love for Matt. I Love him more today than I did the day I said, “I do.” Our love was tested by my mental illness and eating disorder but we came out stronger. We now understand what it means to love through sickness and in health.
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