I Tried To Be Anorexic, But I Couldn’t Stop Eating.
I’ll cut straight to the chase, I was starving for attention. I don’t mean I was literally starving myself to get attention, as I said, I tried that and failed. What I mean is that I just wanted someone to notice me, and pay me some attention. At that point in my life, I felt completely invisible. I was 14, the youngest of 4 siblings, and it seemed like everyone was off busy somewhere except me. It felt like the people around me getting the most attention had an eating disorder. They were the subject of whispers and corridor talk. It made me feel left out and overshadowed. I wanted them to be talking about me like I mattered, too. Because that meant they were thinking about me, and when I say ‘they’ I mean anyone. My family, the church, anyone.
I was ultimately a good girl growing up, and like any child, I made mistakes and got into trouble. Unfortunately, I still carry some of the fear, guilt and shame from my mistakes, but that is largely due to having a generalised anxiety disorder and a strong Pentecostal upbringing. Humiliation can really scar a child.
Around age 14 I started acting out. I wasn’t exactly going out of my way to rebel, it was more that my heart said yes but my head said no. Or maybe more accurately my heart said “Yes!” but God said “No!” I was constantly pulled from each side of what felt like a battlefield. The battlefield of my mind and my heart (although I felt it more in my gut). Sometimes I’d make a split decision in the middle of what seemed like a scene from Braveheart. I would feel completely disorientated from the pressure of making a decision and I would often regret the choice I had made in the end. I couldn’t win really. Choosing not to participate for fear of going to hell meant I missed out on the fun with my friends, or if I went along with them I couldn’t enjoy myself because I would feel guilty AF.
Sometimes I would love whatever I was up to at the time, (read: fooling around with my boyfriend) but at the same time my body, mind and emotions would all be at war with each other. I could never quieten my mind, and I could never relieve the gut-wrenching pain in my stomach which I named ‘my anxiety cramps’ as they made such a regular appearance. These anxiety cramps actually ended me up in hospital a couple of times they were so debilitating. That was when I had my first encounter with muscle relaxants — oh hello old friend!
It was difficult to blend in with anyone really in high school because my morals were so ingrained. I would often bounce from group to group, moving on when people started getting close enough that they might catch on to who I was. I could hardly break the rules, but at the same time, I bent them a lot, and when I did, I was riddled from head to toe with guilt, fear, and shame. It was better for my anxiety to avoid getting into trouble altogether, but I often couldn’t help myself when push came to shove as I just wanted to fit in and be liked. I hear what you’re saying, “you only get in trouble if you get caught!” But God is all-seeing and all-knowing, and I don’t think he’s known for compassionately turning a blind eye. There was also the issue of forgiveness. I thought I discovered a loophole, “I can always just sin and then ask God for forgiveness later!” — but then I was told that God doesn’t forgive you when you plan to sin. Damn those Christians have a freaking answer for everything!!!
I eventually stopped trying to be anorexic as I began getting attention elsewhere (read: boys). Besides, I was hopeless at it. I would often remember halfway through eating dinner or dessert that I was supposed to be starving myself, plus I had a phobia of vomiting so bulimia was out of the question.
I always thought I was big and wanted to be skinnier, however, I couldn’t relate to the “body dysmorphia” associated with eating disorders. I would watch a documentary on anorexia and not understand how the person couldn’t see that they were skin and bone! Even I would be like, “WTF?! Of course you’re skinny!!!!! You’re skinny AF! TOO skinny!!”
I really identified with Christina Ricci’s character in the movie ‘Now and Then’. She would tape down her boobs and dress ‘boyish’ which is how I dressed and still do mostly. I’m comfortable in sloppy, baggy clothes.
“Did you know your butt is getting bigger? I just thought I’d let you know so you could start doing something about it.“
In the early 2000’s black skinny leg jeans came in in a big way, and it took me so long to get comfortable wearing them as I was self-conscious of my big bum. I was never allowed to wear tight clothing growing up, that was only what slutty women wore. And having a shit body image (despite being a size 8) I felt so exposed in something like skinny leg jeans. But my husband (now ex-husband) said to me they looked hot and that helped me come out of the dressing room. I knew he was honest with me. Too honest at times. One evening while I was bending over to get something out of the oven he said “Did you know your butt is getting bigger? I just thought I’d let you know so you could start doing something about it.” His aim here was that if he let me now before it was too big, it would require less effort for me to make it smaller. The shit thing is, is that night I was feeling good about my body, for once. I had some black tracksuit pants on and for the first time, I didn’t think my ass looked fat. (Again, despite being a size fucking 8!)
My ex-husband would often lay clothes out on the bed for me to wear. I’d come out of the shower and he would have laid out an outfit that would typically make me look slutty. I was 20 years old at this time, and although many girls my age may have been super comfortable in crop tops, it was not for me. I tried buying those kinds of clothes but never felt comfortable enough in them to leave the house. I remember fighting with my ex-husband about it and winning. I did not wear what he laid out for me. Much to many people’s disgust, I was not the submissive wife I was expected to be, in the eyes of my family, the church and God. Despite this and leaving him years later, his criticisms never leave me.
What’s interesting now is, some 20+ years later I’ve now been diagnosed with “body dysmorphia” quite to my surprise. I’m not sure if it’s true or not, but I’ve come to realise that I am obsessed with my weight and checking my body every time I pass a mirror. If I go to the toilet, I lift my top as I leave the bathroom to see if my stomach is any smaller. Every. Single. Time. I guess it’s one of those things that’s crept into my life without me really noticing.
So what I’ve learned is that the problem with all this body checking is all the self-loathing and self-hatred that comes with it. I talk to myself using such a toxic tone and incredibly vial words. I spit out comments to my reflection like “you’re so disgusting, you fat fuck”. I remembered that even when I was a size 8, I felt this way. I used to set alarms to encourage me to get up and exercise. I named the alarms things like “Get up and exercise you fat fuck” and “You’re so fucking fat and disgusting”. This, I believed, would motivate me to move. *Ahem*. Hardly.
During my recent admission to the mother and family unit, the psychiatrist identified I have virtually zero self-esteem and an equal amount of self-compassion. Working on this is not going to be an overnight fix, but now that I have an 8-month-old daughter of my own, I want to be better, for her. I want to be a better mum, for her. I don’t want her to look at her body and judge it the way I do mine. And although I know I can’t prevent that from happening, perhaps I can be better equipped to help her with any self-image struggles she may have.
I am fortunate to have my child during an age where mental health is becoming less of a taboo topic. The more we talk about it, the more we learn. And the more we learn, the more help we can give — and be given.
