Yesterday, Jason had a “talk” about my weight and eating habits.

He became emotional, shared his fears, and even seemingly teared up at one point.
When that happens, his lips contract and face contorts. Instead of looking like a man, he curiously resorts into an angry child progression. It’s fascinating and ugly at the same time.

I don’t like it.
I don’t like to see him cry and be the “reason” for it.

– But, all the same, I’m glad that he doesn’t hide it. That would just make a poor situation pathetic as he has difficulty hiding anything important and doubly so if it is emotional. All a person has to do is pay a little bit of attention.

I’m not dismissing his concerns.

Jason is an intelligent man, and he cares for me. That’s a rare occurrence in my life. Moreover, he’s won the confidence and acceptance of my family. Again, not something that is easily done. Jason has been a fixture in my life for over twenty years and I’ve never had any reason to doubt his fidelity or loyalty.

I don’t always agree with his line of reasoning, thinking, or motives. But that’s part of a relationship. I don’t have to. Accepting, understanding, patience, and respect are key components. Fortunately, I have those in our relationship, and I think he does as well.

My weight, rather it be too much or (what some consider) too little, is like the wound Jesus received. It’s depicted in several classical paintings. It is believed that a Roman soldier stabbed Jesus to see if he bled. This would signal if he was alive or not as a dead heart would not pump blood. Later, the original Doubting Thomas would come along and stretch it out make sure. That had to be grisly but curiosity wins.

My wound is my weight. My blood is the infection – anorexia.
I have a string of Doubting Thomas. This would be, primarily, Jason, Mom, and Little Sister.
Each of them has been stretching out the wound to check for blood.

Again, I’m not perfect. There may be something there. I’ve noticed personal behaviors that I find alarming and have been working on that.

But Jason needs to check himself as well.

From my view, key components that played into the development of anorexia was that:

* He didn’t have a job. Moreover, he didn’t have a job for over a year.

* I felt obligated to pay for everything to keep us going and I did so —- successfully.
At the time I left for the House, the mortgage was paid ahead for over a year. There was several months credit on all major utilities. The house was stocked with food.
There were no major or outstanding bills. The car, although falling apart, was fully paid for. Everything in the house was functioning.

* I cashed out whatever retirement and 401K I had to help him.

* I felt that I needed to do without so I could provide. One of the main reasons why I was successful is because I limited my financial burden and consumed limited resources. This meant food, water, and even toilet paper. Money stockpiles when it is not being spent. Avoid spending, the more money someone has.

Yes, I was broken.
Mentally and financially destitute, I only had the people around me.
Blood was leaking from my veins. My body was eating its heart for nutrients — which I think is kind of justified. I was becoming riddled with infection from wounds on my back. Eyesight was failing from the lack of vitamins. My mind was fairly shattered and, although I did not have the intent of self-harm, I certainly indicated that it was a possibility through words. I said some awful things about myself to him. It would be enough to alarm a stranger, let alone someone who supposedly cares for me.

To be fair, his inaction to find a job — any job, mental status, and my devotion to provide him whatever he needed and wanted — rather it was high quality hamburger to video games to eating out — were all driving factors that caused the anorexia wound. Still, despite everything, I wanted him to have everything although I had grave personal misgivings.

My damaged heart, early onset of osteoporosis, and other health issues are just the lifelong components of a bloody wound that may never heal.

Fast forwarding to now.

* After a couple of stints at attempting to hold a job, he doesn’t have one.
He hasn’t pulled in a paycheck for nearly a year.

* While I don’t have a 401K to cash out, my mom sold him a house. This was a form of income and security she abandoned so he could have roof over his head. It’s kind of like me handing over my checking, retirement, and whatever financial security I had to him those years ago.

* I still don’t agree with his spending and find many of them to be highly frivolous. Eating out practically every day, the purchase of a house generator… the type of shed as well as many others…. are all purchases that could have been made with more thought and less extravagance if made at all. But, since I want him to have what he wants, I tolerate them. And, should I voice opinions and doubts, they’re often overlooked and squashed as being inconsequential.

I’m not being taken seriously. I’m being invalidated. If I was, I would have my way in situations that matter. I would not have flower boxes on a shed.

But, this time around, Jason actually has the fat from the sale of a house to live off of.
From what I know, he has at least five digits in the bank. The only outstanding bills are monthly utilities and the car payment.

I have family living down the street. They are devoted and will provide if they can.

My blood is staying in my veins.
I am not talking about self-harm. I am, as far as I know, am in no danger of infection consuming my body.

The situation is the same but different.

A lot of the symptoms are there — mainly him finding and holding a job and his spending.
Although the spending has been getting better but that’s * only * because a lot of the big purchases have been completed or are contracted. There isn’t a lot I can do about the flower boxes now and just have to accept. It’s too much energy to continue to complain although I hate looking at them.

I don’t need or want a constant reminder of how my opinion and thoughts were entirely disregarded.

The finding a job is a situation that I don’t think he is doing enough to remedy.
And, when questioned, he becomes upset and provides continual excuses on why he has to wait and why certain positions aren’t “good enough.”

For example, I’ve poked at him to search and apply for adjunct positions. He has two master’s degrees. I’m really sure he’s qualified but he doesn’t look. He has been in Indiana for nearly three months and has had two interviews. As far as I know, he has only applied to a single temp agency. At the very least, he could take on a position that is “beneath” him. His delicate sensibilities may be offended. But, taking on a “lesser” job doesn’t mean that he should stop searching for a better one.

Western medicine treats the symptoms but not the causes.
If my weight is a symptom – a Doubting Thomas wound – the causes need to be addressed and they are not.

To help me…. to care for me… me. me. me.
— He needs to get his own damned self in order.

That’s through sacrifice as I did with my mental state and long-term health.

I don’t know what that would look like for him.
But, before he starts tearing into my wounds, he needs to examine himself first.