What I Tried To Tell You...
...but couldn't. I told you that I've never been so afraid to step on a scale in my life, and this is why.
I still dream of those days, the days of still being a size 0. You see, it's been so long, I've forgotten what it feels like. I only have memories, memories like this one:
Summer of 05. I was fifteen and still had it all. Just finished up a year of taking 7 dance classes a week and the body to prove it. I was wearing that pink skirt, you know, that mini skirt. I was talking to a teacher and as per my usual, got upset. I didn't even bother finishing my argument - I just stood up, turned on my heel, and walked back to my seat. I've never felt so good as I did that day. Like a million bucks.
But that was then, and this is now. All 142 lbs of now. I must have been delusional back then, telling myself I was fat. I don't even think I was more than 115. In fact, I think I was 105. Yes, that sounds about right. Tiny, right? Not to me. All I could focus on was how my legs looked like tree trunks, how my arms seemed flabby, or the rolls of fat around my stomach. I would give anything to be back there. But that's what this does to you. You can't ever see what you want. Never good enough, never thin enough. And I'm so stupid; I can't believe its taken me this long to figure it out. The only reason I was that tiny was that I already subconsciously restricting. I barely ate breakfast, a cereal bar at that. And those 5 dollars that I used to get for lunch to buy myself a pizza? I decided it was mostly a better investment to save the money than to fight the crowds for a worthless slice of pizza. Some days I wouldn't eat until dinner. How healthy is that?! But, I thought it was normal. And if I could skip breakfast, then it was better for me.
And just months after that memory above, I lost it all. In just a few months I packed on over 20 lbs under the pretense of some stupid thing called Academic Decathlon. Binge eating to fill the void, to keep me awake, to keep me sane. Whatever could fit in my mouth, I'd shove it down. A year later and all I had to show for my "studying" was a disaster of a body. It was my senior year, and how could I possibly go out to any dances looking like this? I tried to go back to what I had done before. Some dance, and cut back on eating. But whatever discipline I had before was gone. I had to work twice as hard to convince myself that I didn't need that sandwich. I finally decided that the voices in my head were indeed right, and that I was better off just skipping it. Extra money for me, and less hating myself later. Or so I thought. See, it turns out, I can never stop thinking that I'm too fat, comparing myself to that 200 lb lady that just walked past me on the street. Thats how I see myself, not whats in the mirror.
Now you must think I'm delusional. That I can't possibly see that. But I do. Its because of this that I feel that way. It messes with my head, throws normal out the window. I got thin enough for prom. I thought I was making progress, but I still hate the fact that my dress was a size 8. I used to be a 2! What happened?! I'll tell you. I was weak. And stupid. I tried to tell myself that I just had big boobs, and that the dress was loose at my waist. But who was I kidding. I was so jealous of girls who fit into smaller dresses than me, who looked better. And so, it was crunch time. Probably one of the scariest summers of my life, looking back. I didn't think anything of it then, I was just trying to get back to where I used to be. Easy, right? Just take a bunch of dance, and don't eat. I mean, who needs more than a 5 calorie jello snack before an intensive 3 hour ballet class, right? And then when you get home, wait as long as possible, and then have a low calorie soup for dinner. And then it's bed time. Oh, don't forget to sleep in so you can minimize the hours awake that you're not eating. I told myself that day after day. I did my one and only fast that summer, for 36 hours. I would have kept going, but parentals being around forced me to eat.
The craziness toned itself down near the end of summer and the start of freshman year. I still had crazy thoughts all the time and brought my scale with me up to school. I was determined to not gain the freshman 15, but we all know that didn't happen. My first quarter, I spent it talking to someone who convinced me that I wasn't doing enough to lose weight. That everything I ate was terrible for me, and that I should know better. I was careful, but not over-the-top counting calories as I had become accustomed to. Was I becoming okay with mediocrity? That relationship soon fizzled out and I was left to my own devices. Voices still in my head, they got fainter and fainter...until I tried on clothes that I thought should still fit. It was like a stab in the heart, a failure on my part. I had lost control. But I brushed off those voices in my head, or so I tried. I tried so hard, to finally be normal. But what is normal, I already forgot. I finished out the year with an up-and-down relationship with food. I don't remember how it ended anymore, and I don't want to. That summer, I took matter into my own hands, and signed up for dance. I thought that if 3 hours the previous summer was good, then surely 5-6 hours would be even better. I had lost so much discipline, gained so many curves. But I was determined. I ate more than I did the year before, but I still tried to keep it down. I don't know if anything worked anymore, because even if it did, I was just used to convincing myself that it didn't. This messes with you, I tell you, this messes with you. It leaves you hallow, just a shell of who you used to be, your whole life now devoted to thinking about food: what you ate, what you should have ate, what you didn't eat, how often you eat, etc. Except, I didn't look like a shell on the outside. I was still a whale; there was disconnect.
Something happened between that summer and this summer. I thought I had gotten over this. That this was finally out of my life. That I could be happy with me. But those are just illusions! The voices never leave. The mentality will always remain. I will never be thin enough, NEVER. I still compare myself to people who are twice my weight, convincing myself that I am that heavy. So you see what I mean when I told you I didn't want to go back to that scary place. Do you? Do you know what it feels like to wake every morning and feel compelled to check out your body in the mirror, hoping you magically lost weight overnight? At this point, there might even be a weight god that I should be praying to every night. I look to see if my collar bones stick out more or if my stomach is any flatter. Are my hips even there? And every morning, I'm met with disappointment. So I head off to shower, as if that's any consolation. I check to see if my ribcage is anymore defined, if my bones stick out just a tad bit more. Because, you see, being able to see my bones stick out is beautiful. This is my sense of beauty. i stand there, looking at my naked flesh in the mirror and hating every inch of flubber I see. You won't understand, but there are days [many, actually] where I would rather die than go on living like this fat slob that I am. Because I just can't go on being a failure at this anymore. Every minute of my day is consumed with thoughts about food and self hatred. And every night I go to sleep sometimes hoping that I won't wake up anymore, so I don't have to see it all in the mirror again. This is what this has done to me. Do you see?
I don't want you to get this wrong. I am NOT anorexic, nor have I ever been. But I can tell you that this is not normal. Disordered eating, at most, is what I would call it. Fucked up thoughts? Maybe. I don't know anymore, I can't keep things straight. I'm just slowly going back to that scary place, like it or not. I can't think anymore.
I wanted to tell you, but it's so hard to get all of this out on FB chat. I didn't want to scare you. I didn't want to tell you, but I couldn't do this alone anymore. This is my problem, and mine alone. But it's eating me alive. And I didn't think you were seeing the whole picture of why I was so upset without this. You told me I needed to depressurize the relationship, to talk to the parentals about leaving me alone and letting me take care of my body my way. But can you see how I would have to unload all of this baggage, too? I couldn't do that. I'd rather keep the peace. And maybe, I'll gain some discipline back, too. You mean a lot to me, so I thought you should know. But now I feel stupid for telling you because I don't want you to think any less of me. I care too much about you, I didn't want to scare you away. I just wish I had told you about all of this, too, while I was at it...
I still dream of those days, the days of still being a size 0. You see, it's been so long, I've forgotten what it feels like. I only have memories, memories like this one:
Summer of 05. I was fifteen and still had it all. Just finished up a year of taking 7 dance classes a week and the body to prove it. I was wearing that pink skirt, you know, that mini skirt. I was talking to a teacher and as per my usual, got upset. I didn't even bother finishing my argument - I just stood up, turned on my heel, and walked back to my seat. I've never felt so good as I did that day. Like a million bucks.
But that was then, and this is now. All 142 lbs of now. I must have been delusional back then, telling myself I was fat. I don't even think I was more than 115. In fact, I think I was 105. Yes, that sounds about right. Tiny, right? Not to me. All I could focus on was how my legs looked like tree trunks, how my arms seemed flabby, or the rolls of fat around my stomach. I would give anything to be back there. But that's what this does to you. You can't ever see what you want. Never good enough, never thin enough. And I'm so stupid; I can't believe its taken me this long to figure it out. The only reason I was that tiny was that I already subconsciously restricting. I barely ate breakfast, a cereal bar at that. And those 5 dollars that I used to get for lunch to buy myself a pizza? I decided it was mostly a better investment to save the money than to fight the crowds for a worthless slice of pizza. Some days I wouldn't eat until dinner. How healthy is that?! But, I thought it was normal. And if I could skip breakfast, then it was better for me.
And just months after that memory above, I lost it all. In just a few months I packed on over 20 lbs under the pretense of some stupid thing called Academic Decathlon. Binge eating to fill the void, to keep me awake, to keep me sane. Whatever could fit in my mouth, I'd shove it down. A year later and all I had to show for my "studying" was a disaster of a body. It was my senior year, and how could I possibly go out to any dances looking like this? I tried to go back to what I had done before. Some dance, and cut back on eating. But whatever discipline I had before was gone. I had to work twice as hard to convince myself that I didn't need that sandwich. I finally decided that the voices in my head were indeed right, and that I was better off just skipping it. Extra money for me, and less hating myself later. Or so I thought. See, it turns out, I can never stop thinking that I'm too fat, comparing myself to that 200 lb lady that just walked past me on the street. Thats how I see myself, not whats in the mirror.
Now you must think I'm delusional. That I can't possibly see that. But I do. Its because of this that I feel that way. It messes with my head, throws normal out the window. I got thin enough for prom. I thought I was making progress, but I still hate the fact that my dress was a size 8. I used to be a 2! What happened?! I'll tell you. I was weak. And stupid. I tried to tell myself that I just had big boobs, and that the dress was loose at my waist. But who was I kidding. I was so jealous of girls who fit into smaller dresses than me, who looked better. And so, it was crunch time. Probably one of the scariest summers of my life, looking back. I didn't think anything of it then, I was just trying to get back to where I used to be. Easy, right? Just take a bunch of dance, and don't eat. I mean, who needs more than a 5 calorie jello snack before an intensive 3 hour ballet class, right? And then when you get home, wait as long as possible, and then have a low calorie soup for dinner. And then it's bed time. Oh, don't forget to sleep in so you can minimize the hours awake that you're not eating. I told myself that day after day. I did my one and only fast that summer, for 36 hours. I would have kept going, but parentals being around forced me to eat.
The craziness toned itself down near the end of summer and the start of freshman year. I still had crazy thoughts all the time and brought my scale with me up to school. I was determined to not gain the freshman 15, but we all know that didn't happen. My first quarter, I spent it talking to someone who convinced me that I wasn't doing enough to lose weight. That everything I ate was terrible for me, and that I should know better. I was careful, but not over-the-top counting calories as I had become accustomed to. Was I becoming okay with mediocrity? That relationship soon fizzled out and I was left to my own devices. Voices still in my head, they got fainter and fainter...until I tried on clothes that I thought should still fit. It was like a stab in the heart, a failure on my part. I had lost control. But I brushed off those voices in my head, or so I tried. I tried so hard, to finally be normal. But what is normal, I already forgot. I finished out the year with an up-and-down relationship with food. I don't remember how it ended anymore, and I don't want to. That summer, I took matter into my own hands, and signed up for dance. I thought that if 3 hours the previous summer was good, then surely 5-6 hours would be even better. I had lost so much discipline, gained so many curves. But I was determined. I ate more than I did the year before, but I still tried to keep it down. I don't know if anything worked anymore, because even if it did, I was just used to convincing myself that it didn't. This messes with you, I tell you, this messes with you. It leaves you hallow, just a shell of who you used to be, your whole life now devoted to thinking about food: what you ate, what you should have ate, what you didn't eat, how often you eat, etc. Except, I didn't look like a shell on the outside. I was still a whale; there was disconnect.
Something happened between that summer and this summer. I thought I had gotten over this. That this was finally out of my life. That I could be happy with me. But those are just illusions! The voices never leave. The mentality will always remain. I will never be thin enough, NEVER. I still compare myself to people who are twice my weight, convincing myself that I am that heavy. So you see what I mean when I told you I didn't want to go back to that scary place. Do you? Do you know what it feels like to wake every morning and feel compelled to check out your body in the mirror, hoping you magically lost weight overnight? At this point, there might even be a weight god that I should be praying to every night. I look to see if my collar bones stick out more or if my stomach is any flatter. Are my hips even there? And every morning, I'm met with disappointment. So I head off to shower, as if that's any consolation. I check to see if my ribcage is anymore defined, if my bones stick out just a tad bit more. Because, you see, being able to see my bones stick out is beautiful. This is my sense of beauty. i stand there, looking at my naked flesh in the mirror and hating every inch of flubber I see. You won't understand, but there are days [many, actually] where I would rather die than go on living like this fat slob that I am. Because I just can't go on being a failure at this anymore. Every minute of my day is consumed with thoughts about food and self hatred. And every night I go to sleep sometimes hoping that I won't wake up anymore, so I don't have to see it all in the mirror again. This is what this has done to me. Do you see?
I don't want you to get this wrong. I am NOT anorexic, nor have I ever been. But I can tell you that this is not normal. Disordered eating, at most, is what I would call it. Fucked up thoughts? Maybe. I don't know anymore, I can't keep things straight. I'm just slowly going back to that scary place, like it or not. I can't think anymore.
I wanted to tell you, but it's so hard to get all of this out on FB chat. I didn't want to scare you. I didn't want to tell you, but I couldn't do this alone anymore. This is my problem, and mine alone. But it's eating me alive. And I didn't think you were seeing the whole picture of why I was so upset without this. You told me I needed to depressurize the relationship, to talk to the parentals about leaving me alone and letting me take care of my body my way. But can you see how I would have to unload all of this baggage, too? I couldn't do that. I'd rather keep the peace. And maybe, I'll gain some discipline back, too. You mean a lot to me, so I thought you should know. But now I feel stupid for telling you because I don't want you to think any less of me. I care too much about you, I didn't want to scare you away. I just wish I had told you about all of this, too, while I was at it...