I had a conversation with my brother the other day that went something like this:
Him: I'd rather be bulimic than fat. No, actually anorexic. I don't want to be a barfbag.
Me: Um, trust me, no you wouldn't.
Him: It's way easier to put on weight than it is to lose weight.
And the debate continued until I got so annoyed I couldn't even talk anymore. How could he know how much his comments were hurting me? Nobody knew until well into my recovery that there was even a problem. In fact, very few know now - not even my family (I guess they may learn if they ever stumble across this blog but I guess that's ok).
So what was I/am I willing to pay? At the time, it seemed like a pound of flesh and I was happy with that.
Food - My Love/Hate Relationship
My love/hate relationship with food began in middle school. I was always the kid who got picked on. To this day, I will never understand it. I perceived myself as thoughtful and kind and just another average kid. Sure, I didn't wear designer clothes or cover my locker with posters of teenaged heartthrobs but was that enough to be called horrible names?
One of the names that always cut deeply was "fat". Now let me preface this paragraph with the fact that I was in no ways fat. There were a few kids much bigger than I. But I believed them. As adults, we truely understand that during puberty girls get a nice layer of chub before it's redistributed but as a young woman in the throes of all of those changes, you don't think about that.
The summer between grade 8 and grade 9 was a breaking point of sorts. I had this tiny little muffin top that I loathed even though I was slim (approx. 120lbs at 5'5" - totally perfect if you ask the MD). My dad had always made "harmless" comments about heavier people but one day my dad made a comment about that "blubber". I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it, he was just making a silly joke, but it was like a knife to the heart.
My childhood was not rosey and while my brother chose to get attention by acting out, I chose to get attention by trying to attain perfection. To think of myself as less than perfect in my father's eyes was abhorrent and that just would not do.
I had always gotten a lot of exercise - playing sports, riding my bike everywhere in the city, and I didn't eat a lot of junk food so I was really stumped at how I could possibly lose weight. I felt like I had been doing everything that normal people did. That was when I started to deprive myself.
It didn't take long to realize that I was not cut out to be anorexic. I couldn't stand the hunger pangs, the smells, and I did not have the self control to not put food in my mouth. That was when it dawned on me that I could still smell and taste and touch the food I craved and not gain weight. At first, I would just chew it up and spit it out into a napkin at dinner but when I started to get paranoid that it was getting obvious I forced myself to swallow.
Soon, I was worshipping the porcelain god. I would eat my meals and then disappear to the bathroom. And then the hunger and nausea and light-headedness would set in. I was so hungry. Oh binging, this is where it came in. As much as I would fight it, I would get so hungry at times that I would just eat everything I could get my hands on. This worked out well because I worked at a convenience store and access to sooooooo many foods that I could shove into my mouth.
It finally dawned on me that I had a problem one day in health class. I don't know why or how but I saw it for what it was. I went to a sexual health clinic knowing that it was anonymous and they gave me some literature but told me that I needed to tell my parents.
That prospect scared me straight. They had so much on their plate already and I could not be another source of concern. I joined an anonymous support group and out of sheer will, I started to eat again and keep it down. I guess I'm oversimplifying here but suffice it to say, it was a struggle.
Long-term effects? Well thankfully because it wasn't a long period of time I was able to avert a lot of the permanent damage. But the enamel on my teeth is destroyed and my gag reflex is always on hair trigger. It's like I have muscle memory. Whenever I'm cleaning the toilet or bend down to get something I've dropped on the bathroom floor, I heave. I'm also convinced that is why my morning sickness was so horrendous when I was pregnant with my daughter.
What's worse is that I've now gone in the completely opposite direction. I don't think about what I put in my mouth and the effect it has on my health. On rare occasions, I catch myself binging and have to stop.
As far as body image goes, I've learned how to dress this body and feel like I look good in my skin but I still hate seeing photographs of myself. And I know that I am not at a healthy weight at this end of the spectrum either. But now, rather than being motivated by the quest for perfection and pleasing others, I am so happy with myself that I've become inert. Why care what others think? I am happy being me (until I see the fat rolls in the mirror, that is).
I guess what I'm trying to say in sharing all of this is that words hurt. They leave indellible marks on you. The things that people said to me in middle school really made in impact on my life long-term. And it is society, media, and the quest for perfection and beauty that is programming our children to think that they cannot accept anyhing less.
Don't fall for it. Beauty must come from within. Your health is not worth the price.
Check out this video/song. The first time I heard it I collapsed into a heap and sobbed. It was my fight: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RcZ-xDowBsY
NOTE: Any photos in this blog are not mine except the one below.
Bleeding Hearts - J.Walker © 2011
If you are struggling with eating disorders, I recommend the book, Letting Go of Ed: A Guide to Recovering From Your Eating Disorder, by Pippa Wilson.
http://www.amazon.ca/Letting-Go-Ed-Recovering-Disorder/dp/1846946980/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1323639585&sr=8-2
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