I Can Do This

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anorexia, body image, bulimia, compulsive overeating, death, eating disorder, eating disorders, EDNOS, food, grief, weight

2001 — Age 15

It’s been a month since mom died. My aunt (on my mom’s side) has been staying at our home with her on and off again husband (separated? estranged? back together? who knows?) and two daughters. We all bond over stories of my mother. We laugh, we cry. I watch my aunt sit outside on the patio with my dad, her once usual pretty face looking tired, drained, and ten years older. She blows her cigarette smoke into the air as she sits with her legs in the chair, her knees pulled up against her chest. My dad still cries at random times, often going into the bedroom so nobody sees. My uncle, looking like a third-wheel next to his wife and my dad, sits around quietly watching TV.

One night we go out to eat at a Chinese restaurant. Although it’s only been a month since my mom died, I focus on my weight and how much I will gain if I eat the Chinese food. In a lame attempt to engage in dieting behavior, I try to limit my food intake, although like many others, Chinese food is a weakness of mine. I eat until I am full, telling myself I can exercise when I get home to make up for the damage done.

When we get home, I run in place and do sit ups, none of which probably do anything in terms of my weight, but help tremendously with the anxiety over eating. The decision has already been made: I will lose weight. I will focus on something other than my mom. I will do this. I can do this. This is the first day of the rest of my life, and I’m going to do something that makes me happy.

Perfect Body

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amy jo johnson, anorexia, bulimia, compulsive overeating, eating disorder, eating disorders, EDNOS, perfect body, pro-ana, pro-anorexia

2001 — Age 15

My aunt and cousins have been visiting. A lot. I enjoy their company; it takes away the fact that my mom is no longer here, sitting in her blue recliner, playing Electronic Black Jack while my dad watches another court program. My mom, in her black sweats, glasses, and slippers; her cigarette on the end table beside her with the smoke trailing up and up and up. Her pill bag beside her, filled with bottles upon bottles of pills with names I cannot pronounce. But she’s not sitting there anymore, her slippers are neatly tucked away, the smell of her cigarette smoke is gone, and her pill bag is put back in the closet; my dad has taken some of her Vicodin because he no longer can sleep now that she’s gone.

My aunt and dad are on the couch. I’m sitting in my mom’s recliner. The older of my cousins is lying on the floor and her younger sister is on the other recliner. Of all things, we are watching “Perfect Body” on Liftime, the movie about the gymnast who falls prey to anorexia and bulimia in her quest for dominating the Olympics. I feel awkward but captivated at the same time. I long to take part in the romanticism of the disorder, to stop eating in order to lose weight, to feel completely in control in a time of complete emotional chaos.

By the end of the film, when Amy Jo Johnson looks her worse, black circles under her eyes and pale complexion, my counsin says, “Ew, she looks awful.” I think she looks beautiful, and even though she’s nowhere near a real anorectic weight, I want to be like her. Thin and powerful.

What a stupid concept, wanting anorexia. I can clearly see it’s dangerous and not really something you should want. It’s not really something you can choose. And yet, haven’t I been slowly developing it all this time? Haven’t I been groomed to fall under “Ana’s” wing for quite some time now? Haven’t I flirted with it enough? Isn’t it time to finally succumb to what is inevitable?

It’s time to attain what I see as a Perfect Body. It’s time to give in, because I need something to take my mind of my mom’s death, and this, I think, will be perfect.

Grief

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9/11, anorexia, body image, bulimia, death, eating disorder, eating disorders, EDNOS, grief, mourning, weight

2001 — Age 15

Mom’s dead. No longer here. Wiped off the face of the planet. I cry at first, but only once. Dad says it’s because my mom has taken my pain away; I was supposed to be the one who took it the hardest. But I’m okay. I cry again at the memorial service, but for the next five years crying over my mother will be sporadic and usually within the walls of a counseling session.

I miss my mom, but I’m a zombie. I go back to school and get hugs from people I’m not even friends with. People don’t know how to act. You get used to everybody apologizing for your loss and letting you know that if you need anything, they will be there. But really, those are just empty words. I would never call so-and-so at three in the morning to talk about how the world I knew has started to crash down all around me.

The attention is nice, but I’m still only half alive. A week after I go back to school, the Twin Towers are also wiped off the face of the planet and the world moves on with that. But not me. I’m still grieving over my mother, not watching the news or reading the paper or discussing terrorism among my friends. I wake up, I go to school, I come home, and I shut myself in my room with the door closed. My dad sits by himself in the living room, crying over the soul mate he just lost. We don’t talk about it. I don’t realize the grief is he feeling as much as he doesn’t realize the grief I’m not.

And while his grief pushes him into the arms of my mother’s sister, my lack of grief pushes me into the arms of self-destruction. I don’t want to feel. I don’t want to be sad. I don’t want to live a life without my number one comfort. So I find something else, something else that will take care of me, something that will really take the pain away.

Something else. Something else.

“You Need to Eat More”

Tags

anorexia, anorexic, body image, eating disorder, eating disorders, food, pro-ana, pro-anorexia, weight

2001 — Age 15

We are at my brother’s house. My mom is sick, although we aren’t too worried about it. With her Lupus, she gets sick a lot, but it doesn’t look as serious this time as others. As she lies curled up in a blanket on the recliner, we eat Chinese food. My sister-in-law is going to take me to see American Pie 2 at the midnight showing, and I’m excited to see an adult movie, at MIDNIGHT no less!

As I finish my food, my mom, in a hoarse voice caused by whatever illness she is suffering from, says that I need to go and get seconds. “You need to eat more” she tells me, and insists that I am too skinny. I do as she pleases because that’s just what I do, even though I don’t want seconds. I know that seconds will only make me fat, and yet, I don’t want to make her mad.

Later at the theater, I end up getting Reeses Pieces. I tell myself I’ll just eat half the bag, but I end up eating the entire thing. Between fits of laughter and moments of embarrassment as we watch half-naked actors talk about dildos and threesomes, I feel guilt for eating more than I wanted and fear that I will suddenly gain ten pounds over night.

“You need to eat more.”

But that must mean I’m thin. Possibly too thin. And that makes me feel better.

Pose Sexy

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anorexia, anorexic, beautiful, beauty, childhood, eating disorder, eating disorders, image, model, pose, posing, sex, sexy

Childhood — approximately three years old. 

My mother and I are in the kitchen. I have a white dress on that’s decorated with red roses. My hair is curled and accessorized with a red headband. To top it all off, my lips are painted with my mom’s red lipstick; a trick to make me seem more beautiful and glamorous. Whatever that means at age three.

I’m sitting on my Barbie Power Wheels four-wheeler and obviously more interested in riding around on that than I am entertaining my mother. She has the video camera on, but this is routine by now. She’s a stay-at-home mom and I’m the only kid left who’s not old enough to be in school yet, therefore, sitting down and video taping me play dolls, house, dancing, and singing was a regular part of my childhood.

Mom tells me to tell her a story.

“What stowry?” I say, in my little three-year-old voice.
“Any story.”
“I can’t think of one,” as I press the button on my quad. It doesn’t go very far; we are in the kitchen, after all.

The back and forth dialogue continues until she realizes she’s not really going to get much out of me. So then the next best thing begins: posing for the camera.

Mom’s not a pervert, but she does like to dress me up in frilly dresses because she thinks I’m the most beautiful girl in the world. So when she gets me dolled up all cutesy-like, it’s camera posing time.

“Pose sexy and give me a big smile!”

I put my hand on my hip and point my right knee into my left, reminiscent of a red carpet pose. My mom oooohs and awwwws and then tells me to pose even sexier. I tilt my head back and give her pouty lips, just like a model would on the runway.

She tells me how pretty I am. The dresses and cameras and compliments are more for her than me; if it were up to me I’d be playing like a normal three-year-old instead of playing a role like a 23-year-old.

The day ends with me dancing to The Pointer Sisters and signing into my fake microphone. Mom pretends like my voice is the next best thing, even though clearly, it’s not.

I’m not old enough to really understand the concept of beauty and sexy appeal. But I am old enough to understand it must make my mom happy. Being pretty is very important and looking sexy is very important.

Pretty. Sexy. Pretty. Sexy. No matter what.

I Lost Four Pounds

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anorexia, anorexic, body image, eating disorder, eating disorders, food, pro-ana, pro-anorexia, weight

2001 — Age 14

I’m just getting over the flu. I haven’t been able to eat much food in the last few days, and today my stomach looks pretty flat. My ultimate goal in life, at least in my 14-year-old life, is to have a flat stomach that looks good when I wear half-shirts. Today I can visually see I’m one step closer to that goal, and not eating did the trick.

I step on the scale. Last time I weighed myself I was around 92 pounds. Today I am 88 pounds. I silently think to myself, “Wow, I lost four pounds by not eating.” As miserable as I feel physically, emotionally I feel elated and superior. My stomach is flat and I weigh less than I did before, and I made that happen. I made that happen.

“You Look Anorexic”

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anorexia, anorexic, body image, britney spears, pro-ana, pro-anorexic, thin, weight

2001 – Age 14

I’m getting off the bus to go home. My mother is parked on the side of the street in order to pick me up. I’m wearing tight pink pants, my Britney Spears pants as I like to call them, and a tight fitting grey shirt that is tucked into my pants. As I step into the car, she looks at me and says, “You look anorexic, all the other mothers are going to think I don’t feed you.”

I’m not sure what to say back to her. Apart of me has a twinge of elatedness due to my mother saying I looked anorexic. That must mean I look very skinny. On the other hand, apart of me feels like a disappointment. All of a sudden how I look must also affect how my mother looks. She has made my appearance all about her and for her sake, I need to look healthy.

I don’t have a problem per se with food and weight, but I do think I’m fat and could stand to tone up a bit. My mother’s comment, as self-serving as it is, gives me the boost of confidence I need to continue on this path of thinness.

“Do You Really Cut all Your Meals in Half?”

Tags

anorexia, anorexic, body image, eating disorder, food, pro-ana, pro-anorexia, weight

2001 — Age 14

I’m in Reno with my parents and Tanya. Tanya and I spend a lot of time down at the pool. I spend a lot of time sucking in my stomach because I’m embarrassed. Tanya is perfect, of course, having no need to suck in her flat stomach.

She triggers me, but my 14-year-old self has no idea what a trigger even is. All I know is I writhe in jealousy and wish I could be thinner despite already being underweight. I logically know I must weigh less than Tanya, but that doesn’t mean much given she is taller than I am.

At breakfast it’s just us and my mom. I order pancakes, sausage, and eggs. I made the decision earlier to cut all my portions in half. I’ve convinced myself this will magically make me thinner. And just the thought — the mere thought of restricting my food intake suddenly made me feel high. I suddenly felt superior and elated. I suddenly felt like all was right with the world and I had finally found the answer to my ugliness. If I were thinner, I would be prettier. I could be more like Tanya.

As I put my fork down, certain I was finished with my breakfast, my mother asked me if I was done. I told her yes, and when she asked why I hadn’t finished all my food, I made the mistake of telling her the truth:

“I’m cutting my food in half so I don’t get fat.”

At this point the memory is hazy as to what she replied back with or what Tanya’s reaction was, but my mother had no qualms with embarrassing her children in a public place. In fact, she probably relished in it as hurting us emotionally was one of her strong suits.

She picked up my fork, picked up some pancakes, and shoved the fork into my mouth in front of everyone. I opened my mouth and slowly chewed the gooey chunk of syrup-covered dough. I pleaded:

“No, mom! I don’t want anymore!”

“DO IT, OR I WILL FORCE FEED YOU THE ENTIRE PLATE!”

The embarrassment alone was enough to kill me, so I took the easy road out and opted to eat it on my own. Imagine the guilt and frustration, not to mention I was now a sad puppy with its tail between its legs — I had been reprimanded for restricting my food and put in my place like a whiny child. I was in high school now and yet I felt like a five-year-old kid who gets their wrist slapped for stealing a cookie out of the cookie jar. Except in my case it was the opposite.

***

Back at the hotel Tanya and I are in the bathroom alone. She quietly asks me, “Do you really cut all your meals in half?”

“Sometimes,” I say.

Jealous?, I thought. I hope you are.

“Let’s Not Eat Breakfast!”

Tags

anorexia, body image, bulimia, compulsive overeating, eating disorder, eating disorders, weight

2000 — Age 13

I’m at Samantha’s house. She’s walking around in PJ bottoms and her over-sized shirt is pulled up and tied in a knot. We’re both fans of Britney Spears, so sometimes we like to wear “belly shirts” to be just like her. I’m jealous. Her stomach is flat, and mine is not.

We’re sitting in her room, facing her mirrored closet. She’s pretending to dance like Britney, and I watch, jealous of the fact that my stomach doesn’t look like hers. I can tell she’s looking at her own stomach, because she’s secretly flaunting the fact that it’s flat. She’s conceited sometimes and often fishes for compliments.

She turns to me and says, “Let’s not eat breakfast so our stomachs stay flat!” I agree, because I want a flat stomach, and if I didn’t agree, that would be admitting I was fat and weak.

Her mom overhears us and says we have nothing to worry about. We’re already perfect, and by the time we wake up our stomachs would be flat anyway. We laugh, and when she leaves her room, we still make a pact not to eat anything in the morning.

What a concept — not eating an entire meal? I can do that. I can do that.

“Pull Your Bottoms Up”

Tags

anorexia, body image, bulimia, compulsive overeating, eating disorders, weight

1999 — Age 13

I didn’t think bathing suit shopping was going to be this hard. All my friends are finding suits that flatter their bodies, and I’m stuck here, in the little girls’ section, because I’m so short. I can’t wait to grow tall so I can finally find suits in the junior section, but for now, I’m limited to bathing suits that aren’t yet made for developed breasts and curving hips. It’s embarrassing.

I manage to find one bathing suit that fits me in the junior section. I’m excited to try it on, because finally, I’m able to feel like a TEENAGER. I’m finally able to embrace my new, sexual body as it seems my friends have already been doing for a year or so now.

I get into the dressing room and try it on. To my dismay, my stomach looks bloated, and the back of the bathing suit bottoms push my fat out. My mom’s friend says it’s because I’m wearing the bottoms to low and tells me to pull the waist of the suit up more. I do, and I succeed in looking like a bikini model from the 80′s. It looks worse than it did with my fat sticking out, so I quickly adjust it back to how it was.

I complain that it makes me look fat and I hear a chorus of encouragement from my three friends and their moms. “No! Are you kidding? You look great! You’re not fat!” I don’t believe any of it, but I’m so desperate for a “grown-up” bathing suit that I buy it.

***

We’re at the beach, and I’m totally and utterly insecure. Tanya looks great in her bathing suit, as does Morgan, but I sit here in the sand not wanting to walk around because my suit bottoms push my fat out. When I do walk around, I suck in as much as I can, because my stomach isn’t as flat as the other girls. There are guys on the beach who are eyeing my beautiful, thin friends, and I’m sure they don’t even take a second glance at me.

Tanya looks over at me and says, “Pull your bottoms up.” I look down and realize my fat is being pushed out even more than before, so I quickly pull them up hoping it helps even a little.  I knew these bottoms made me look fat, and the fact that Tanya said something is absolutely mortifying. Why can’t I be as pretty as her? Why can’t I have straight, blonde hair? Why can’t my skin be clear? Why can’t I have the perfect body?

***

Tanya’s mom sends me a picture from that day at the beach. All four of us girls are in a row, arms around each other, posing for the camera. My body is at an angle, and all I can see is the waist of my suit pushing my fat in. The skin hangs over the top of the suit, emphasizing my gigantic hips. It’s disgusting, ugly, and fat. Why did I BUY this suit? It doesn’t even FIT me! I can’t stand to even look at this picture, because it makes me feel embarrassed and ashamed. I just want to be pretty.