Friday, May 13, 2005

The Road Less Traveled

I just vomited in the bathroom.

The feeling in my stomach of the chicken fajitas doing the tango was overwhelming and I knew it was going to happen. I held out as long as I could. Waited until everyone else had gone to lunch and then bam- chicken fajita out, face washed, what's for lunch now?

Sorry if that was too graphic, but I have more vomit stories than Angelina Jolie has weird sexual experiences. Although I am fairly certain that more people would prefer to hear her stories than mine. But, unless Angelina has a blog (and if she does- please send me the link) you are stuck with me. And "stuck with me" means- vomit stories.

I first tried on bulimia at the ripe old age of 13. Always having battled my weight through my life I was desperate to find a way to shed the poundage that just wasn't me. I was a star. A beautiful, sexy, popular, talented and outgoing star. But somehow that star got lost in a fat suit and I was eager to shed it and "me" to reveal my true self. I would diet and excercise so sporatically it did little good. Instead I ballooned. I hated who I was. In elementary school I had been well liked, cute, funny- I was "in." Then junior high hit, along with the fat suit and suddenly I was "out." What happened? Did I become less funny? I still told joke and I kept the classes rolling. I pushed it until I would get sent to the principals office. The principals office! Come on! That had to make me cool!
I dressed as trendy as my chubby little body could, branding myself with labels: Abercrombie, GAP, Bannana Republic... combine this with my outgoing personality, wit and highlighted hair, I had to be cool again, right?
Wrong.
I was not cool. Looking back, it was junior high. I don't think there was anyone who survivored without battle scars. But at the time I knew what it was.

I
was
fat.

That had to be it! I had solved the mystery. And being the proactive girl that I am, I was ready to solve it and regain my place in the social hierarchy. I went to heath class, determined I would learn a way to lose the weight. That's when they showed the movie. You know what one I mean. Some after school special with Tracy Gold showing the effects of an eating disorder.
"Gross!" squeeled the girls when the movie talked about her vomiting after meals.
"She's sick!" said the boy next to me, when it showed her anorexic body.
Everyone else saw the effects of a terrible disease.
I saw a solution.

It was then that I chose my path. I took the road less traveled by, Mr. Frost, and that truly has made all the difference. That fat little girl made a choice for me that day that will haunt me for the rest of my life. This is why I say that the fat girl lives inside of me. It is her that makes me think of food, hate myself for it, eat it, purge it, stop purging, stop eating, crave, and begin the cycle over again. My true self emerged that day in health class.

I have gained and lost more weight than imaginable. I've been through counseling twice. Eleven years have gone by since that fateful day and still my ED is at the center of my thoughts every day. I think about food like Eve thought about the apple. And then I think about avoiding it even more than that.

I have tried multiple times in my life to "be healthy." To eat right, excercise, not starve myself, and certainly not purge what little I do eat. When I did this before I ballooned up to 180lbs. On my 5'6'' frame that is still a fat girl. I look at old pictures from college. Me and my smiling friends- these slight, beautiful creatures from my memories. Their bodies tiny, curvy, tight, muscular and everything I had ever wanted to be. And then I look at me. I hate those pictures. It's like watching an elephant trying to fit in with these unicorns.
What's sad is I look at me now. If I tip the scales at 120 now it is a "fat day." Over 6o pounds have melted from me and still I feel like a hippo when I put on my size "I think they're lying because I am not this small" pants. I feel like a fat girl, I'm just trapped in the body of a thin one.

Mandi asked me once if there was anything I'd change about myself as we stared at ourselves in a mirror.
I pointed to my reflection.
"I'd change what's in that mirror!" I laughed. She shook her head. "You know what I'd change about you?"
"What?" I asked, not knowing if I wanted to hear it.
"Your eyes."
posted by Kellie @ 2:13 PM |

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