Eva
I want to spend some time telling you about my sister. She plays an important roll in the dynamics of my relationship with my Mother.My sister’s name is Eva. She is the oldest of the family. Eva was born with something called ‘Turner’s Syndrome’. Turner’s syndrome is a genetic condition in which a female does not have the usual pair of two X chromosomes. As a result, they don’t develop past puberty, are small in stature and can suffer from multiple health conditions, including infertility.
Eva is only 4′9″ and within a community and a school where most of the children were of the tall Dutch decent she was often teased. Life has not always been very easy for her and my Mother struggled with feelings of guilt for giving birth to a child with defects.
I never knew of my Mother’s struggle. She never wore her feelings on her sleeve but it effected the way she treated me. Over the years, in the midst of one of our many arguments regarding my weight it all came out. For me it was like a bright light had been shown into the dark corners of our relationship.
That day my Mother had asked me what she could do to help me lose the weight. I simply said to her…praise. I explained that I had grown up looking and seeking her praise but it was so limited and I didn’t understand. I told her that I had so often felt that I was a failure and that I rarely made her happy. With tears in her eyes she yelled, “But I feel so guilty about your sister!”
You see she was always afraid to give me much praise because it would take away from Eva. She felt that my sister struggled so much and that she was the one who was in greater need of praise…she was so afraid that I would “out-shine” her.
At that moment there suddenly was clarity…clarity to it all. I FINALLY understood why often there was so little encouragement from a Mother who showered encouragement on my sister. I gained understanding but along with that understanding came anger and hurt. I had spent years being teased in school, years of my Mother lecturing me about my weight. I spent years with only a small smattering of friends of feeling so alone.
Looking back now I think my Mother was filled with anger when it came to my weight. She saw my sister hurting due to a condition that she couldn’t change but my obesity was something I could change and she just didn’t understand. She frequently brought me to doctors hoping they would sit me down and tell me I had to lose weight. She brought me to Weight Watchers at the age of 15 only to argue with them that their goal weight was too high. She would say to me so often, “You would be so pretty if you would just lose weight.” Or “You’ll never get married. Don’t you want to get married and have children?” She appeared to become almost obsessed with my weight and tried to control every aspect of my life…how I dressed, how I wore my hair. I wonder sometimes if she felt that if she could have greater control over me she could stop me from turning to food. Instead I turned to food…to rebel…to feel as if I was in control over at least one aspect of my life. I turned to that food as those words…those tapes…played over and over again in my head.
As a young teenager those words were devastating to me. They stayed with me for years, all the way into my adulthood. I had convinced myself that I wasn’t pretty, that I wasn’t good enough, that I would never be desired or loved by a man…that I would never have worth.
I buried that child in layers and layers of skin hoping and praying that I could just fill the void…
Shadowed Child
I am a child of shadows
afraid to touch the light.
My domicile’s darkness,
day eclipsed to night.
Veiled in ambiguity
by walls, cliffs and trees.
Enfolded in dark forms,
tucked with bent knees.
I sit with opened hands
palmed to spirits of the day
and beckon them to join
in shadowed secure play.
The soft luster of daybreak
teases vulnerable walls,
crumbling from intensity
of haunting demon calls.
I tremble, as long fingers
reach from the other side.
Beneath a phantom’s cloak
I burrow deep and hide.
©BAR
01/26/99
Extraction
A hand reaches
deep within
Trembling fingers
permeate my mind
Knowing not
what they will touch
Or what will
be grasped over time
Memories extracted
from dark inner walls
Pulling…
mockery
snickering
taunting
jeering
words
pain
tears
Leaving…
A lonely child
afraid.
Trying to hide
from the eyes
©BAR 10/26/97