Vulnerability
I admit that when Mrs. Mason said she was going to pass out our stories to other classmates and let them read them, I was nervous. I didn't know if someone else could understand my piece. Joseph read mine, and he did a great job. I felt really vulnerable afterward, but I know that is a good thing. This class isn't easy. It's not supposed to be. I'm glad Mrs. Mason makes us do things we aren't accustomed to. I don't want to leave this class! I would gladly commute from Dothan to be in this class. I'll miss everyone and their amazing talents and intellect and excitement.
Newsweek piece
Mirror, mirror: what do you see?
Thinness not the goal of my life anymore.
My worst enemy used to be mirrors. Just a brief glance could ignite countless negative thoughts.
As a young teen, I struggled with my self-image. I wanted to look like my thin friends and the even thinner models displayed on magazine covers. I was never overweight by any health standard, but my mind saw a different picture.
In high school, I wanted to fit in and impress my crushes, so I devised a plan: I would lose as much weight as possible and then the guys would come running. I would look like my friends. People would notice me more if I was skinny, I reasoned. I would be happy, beautiful and accepted.
My plan was innocent at first. I exercised more and watched what I ate, but once I started losing weight, I didn’t want to stop. I could always be thinner.
I turned to teen magazines for detailed instructions on how to get perfect abs, count calories and look like the hottest celebrities. With each issue, I found new ways to slash “bad” foods and get the body I’ve always wanted.
In my journal, I tracked my food intake, along with calories and fat grams. I also kept a calculator nearby at all times. My limit was 600 calories a day and 8 grams of fat. If I went over my limit, I thought I was a failure. For breakfast, fat-free cereal with skim milk. For snacks, fat-free rice cakes or raisins. For lunch, a protein bar with carrots. For dinner, I ate small portions of whatever Mom made or brought home. If she noticed me not eating, I knew she would get suspicious.
After about two weeks of this style of eating, my body was weak and worn down. My energy level plummeted. In four months, my hair was dry and brittle, my skin was pale, and my bones were protruding from my back and hips. I was becoming a skeleton, but in the mirror all I could see were my gigantic stomach, hips, and legs.
Everyone noticed my thinner self, but instead of offering compliments or liking me more, they were appalled at how little I ate or how my clothes seemed to swallow my body. Guys did not fall at my feet or ask me on dates; most never talked to me. My plan was failing, and I was disappointed. I longed to be happy, but the more pounds that disappeared, the more depressed I got.
I thought I needed to lose even more weight, so I joined the track team that spring. We practiced four days a week, and I couldn’t keep up with the other girls. After running just one lap around the track, I felt like passing out. My heart raced and ached. I found out later that anorexia causes decreased heart muscle, which results in a slower heart rate and lower-than-normal blood pressure.
As a perfectionist, I was frustrated about not finishing with the other runners. I came in dead last at every meet, weak enough to collapse. I wanted to do well, to come in at least third or fourth, but it never happened. With my coach and teammates watching, I felt pressure to win. I began to feel hopeless about myself. I was never thin enough, fast enough, attractive enough.
My parents knew I needed help and had warned me that if I didn’t eat more they would force me to eat hamburgers and ice cream, two foods I had banned months ago on my nonfat journey. I was scared.
I’m independent and don’t like people telling me what to do. When my family started telling me to eat, I got upset. I attempted to eat a few foods with fat, but my body was so accustomed to getting zero fat that I felt sick when I ate those foods.
I met with a psychologist twice. He explained the disorder and gave me a few worksheets to complete. We talked about my problems and he listened, but he did not change my mind or “fix” me, like I had hoped he would.
Thinking about the future frightened me. I would have no future if I kept hurting my body. I realized no one could force me to change — I had to do it. It was my problem, and I had two choices. I could either change or keep living this way, cutting my life short with each passing day.
I chose to live. I did not recover in a week or a few months; it’s a lifelong illness. I battle my image in the mirror today and always will. Anorexia never goes away. By the grace of God, I now see myself as worth much more than my external features. My happiness isn’t dependent on being a certain weight or looking like a model. I eat right and go to the gym to keep my body strong and fit, because those things help me stay healthy. I discovered that I would rather carry a few extra pounds than be too weak to run one lap.
