When you think about it, anorexia is dumb. I mean, when I look at my body and see all the bones–my rib cage showing, all the bones showing in my chest, my skinny arms and legs, my wrinkly stomach, my shoulder bones sticking out, my armpits caved in, all my face bones sticking out–jeepers–why did I do this stupid thing to myself? I look damned ugly like this. I must gross people out who look at me all skinny like this. It’s so damned unnatural. I look like a freaking skeleton with a bit of flesh on it, a couple of muscles, and skin. At least my hands look normal.
People comment. For godsakes. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there. You’re so tiny.” Or, “There’s more room for you here than there is for me.” I don’t say, “You’re fat,” do I? Reverse fat discrimination. They think they’re making me feel good for being super skinny. People are supposed to feel good if they’re thin.
I also get stares. Or rude comments on the bus. Comments from people who are going to be rude anyway. They just say it out loud because they are rude people. “Look at her.” “Too skinny.” “Don’t you eat?” And when I don’t answer, “I asked you a question….Guess she doesn’t talk.” By the time I hear them, I am deep into a book and don’t care. Or at least I think I don’t care.
So why was I trying to make it worse? Did I actually like being ugly, being bony, having this and that stick out, having very little flesh? Once, a long time ago when I was anorexic, I thought I had a lump in my breast, and it turned out to be a rib. I actually went and had a mammogram of it. I was 38 years old.
I don’t restrict anymore. I miss it something wicked. I miss having an empty stomach all the time. I miss the discomfort. I miss feeling weak. I miss wondering how long I can last. I miss the challenge of it. I miss thinking that I’m stronger than other people because I can tolerate hunger better than anyone. Truth is, I wasn’t very strong at all. Anorexia zaps you of one heck of a lot of strength.
I got weighed at the doctor’s today. I have gained a total of four and a half pounds. That’s nearly five. I’m supposed to feel great about this. Before the appointment, I hated myself for gaining weight. I kept telling myself how horrible I felt over it, and how I regretted this weight-gaining business, how I never should have agreed to it in the first place. After I stepped on the scale, though, I felt proud, though, for making it through another week. Oy.
This ED is very powerful. Everything in me is fighting against this. I feel sometimes as though I am barely staying afloat. I feel as though I need a lot of support around this. I don’t know where I am anymore. It is all brand new. Wow.