Write Club 03.
03. pick a year from your life. past or future. describe who you were, what you wore, what your problems were, what your biggest concern was, who you spent time with, who you dreamt of becoming, what you watched on tv, what type of shoes you wore, what you ate for lunch. dig deep and rediscover who you were then and who you are now.
If it has to be a specific year, rather than a time frame, 1996 will work.
I remember the first time as a fuzzy dream. I have nearly no memory of the last time. But not remembering clearly the beginning or the end does not change a definition I encompassed for far too long. I was a bulimic.
I strove to be the best, at everything, in those days preceeding and of my disease. I had set a goal to be Valedictorian when I was in the sixth grade. The perfect GPA started then, as did taking nearly every advanced course that was offered to me. I excelled in music, though perhaps it was the lack of the first chair trumpet section that set me on the path. I ranked as the top Alto in the choirs, though I never landed more than a cast role in the musicals. I wanted to achieve it all, to leave no success unaccomplished, though I did falter occasionally. My goals included having the body that fit into the molds of perfection as well.
Again, I failed at the end all of this achievement, at least in my mind; I was never as thin as the cheerleaders, never looked as good in jeans. Mine always felt 10 sizes too big. My t-shirts never fell right over my stomach, and the skirts that were short didn't look right over my bulky thighs. I still shopped at Goodwill, because I always wanted to go down another few sizes, and I didn't want to spend the money on clothes that would soon, I hoped, be too big on me. Looking at old pictures, I was certainly thin, but I am thankful now for my partial failure. I was still relatively healthy.
For me, bulimia was about control more than the weight loss, I think. My vague memories of the start are of a chaotic day when I felt like nothing was in my hands. So, I gorged myself on treats, and I regretted the decision. Finally, something was up to me. I regretted the act of binging, and now, I could purge.
The original thought was not my own. I didn't scour the internets for pro-bulimia sites, though I am sure they existed even then. Instead, I had the support of a girl who was one of my best friends at the time, A. She cycled between anorexia and bulimia, so depending on the week, we were either opposites or twins.
I wanted to be the girl that all the boys wanted, and in time, that became a partial reality for me. Again, A played a role in this, teaching me to entice boys with the aspects of my body that were most appealing. She taught me to choose clothes from my closet that flattered me, taught me to morph my perception of myself so that I could see myself as desireable. She taught me that not wearing shoes in the house would make it easier to run between the kitchen and the bathroom in the middle of the night without being heard.
A taught me that if I didn't want to vomit as regularly, I could allow myself to eat some things without the desire to run to the bathroom afterward. That was when I started carrying a jar of babyfood in my bookbag for those times when I needed a slight pick-me-up and didn't have my toothbrush with me. My favorites were fruit, of course, as they still tasted like a binge treat, but they didn't seem as overwhelming on my stomach as the actual fruit did. I carried a plastic spoon with me, and I savored each lick off that spoon. To this day, using a white plastic sppon makes me remember those lunches, and, I hate to admit it, smile.
I had so much control then. There are certainly days I miss that control now.
If it has to be a specific year, rather than a time frame, 1996 will work.
I remember the first time as a fuzzy dream. I have nearly no memory of the last time. But not remembering clearly the beginning or the end does not change a definition I encompassed for far too long. I was a bulimic.
I strove to be the best, at everything, in those days preceeding and of my disease. I had set a goal to be Valedictorian when I was in the sixth grade. The perfect GPA started then, as did taking nearly every advanced course that was offered to me. I excelled in music, though perhaps it was the lack of the first chair trumpet section that set me on the path. I ranked as the top Alto in the choirs, though I never landed more than a cast role in the musicals. I wanted to achieve it all, to leave no success unaccomplished, though I did falter occasionally. My goals included having the body that fit into the molds of perfection as well.
Again, I failed at the end all of this achievement, at least in my mind; I was never as thin as the cheerleaders, never looked as good in jeans. Mine always felt 10 sizes too big. My t-shirts never fell right over my stomach, and the skirts that were short didn't look right over my bulky thighs. I still shopped at Goodwill, because I always wanted to go down another few sizes, and I didn't want to spend the money on clothes that would soon, I hoped, be too big on me. Looking at old pictures, I was certainly thin, but I am thankful now for my partial failure. I was still relatively healthy.
For me, bulimia was about control more than the weight loss, I think. My vague memories of the start are of a chaotic day when I felt like nothing was in my hands. So, I gorged myself on treats, and I regretted the decision. Finally, something was up to me. I regretted the act of binging, and now, I could purge.
The original thought was not my own. I didn't scour the internets for pro-bulimia sites, though I am sure they existed even then. Instead, I had the support of a girl who was one of my best friends at the time, A. She cycled between anorexia and bulimia, so depending on the week, we were either opposites or twins.
I wanted to be the girl that all the boys wanted, and in time, that became a partial reality for me. Again, A played a role in this, teaching me to entice boys with the aspects of my body that were most appealing. She taught me to choose clothes from my closet that flattered me, taught me to morph my perception of myself so that I could see myself as desireable. She taught me that not wearing shoes in the house would make it easier to run between the kitchen and the bathroom in the middle of the night without being heard.
A taught me that if I didn't want to vomit as regularly, I could allow myself to eat some things without the desire to run to the bathroom afterward. That was when I started carrying a jar of babyfood in my bookbag for those times when I needed a slight pick-me-up and didn't have my toothbrush with me. My favorites were fruit, of course, as they still tasted like a binge treat, but they didn't seem as overwhelming on my stomach as the actual fruit did. I carried a plastic spoon with me, and I savored each lick off that spoon. To this day, using a white plastic sppon makes me remember those lunches, and, I hate to admit it, smile.
I had so much control then. There are certainly days I miss that control now.