Did Lesser, Smaller, Slimmer, Slender Ever Really Equal Better?
I thought so, for a while.
CW: If you have a history of disordered eating, please feel free to skip this article. While written from a position of feeling fully recovered, I acknowledge that others are at different stages in their journey. If you need help or support, the National Eating Disorder Association offers a toll-free helpline at 1–800–931–2237.
My resting heart rate was 32 beats per minute.
Every so often the monitor wired to my chest would produce a chaotic beep, beep, beep — reminding me that, with each dangerously long pause between contractions, my heart was at risk of stopping altogether. The supervising nurse would rush to my bedside, ensure that my vital signs stabilized, and leave again, without ever admitting what the machine meant with its cries.
My body was failing.
No other metric had succeeded in convincing me of that.
Every plea for recognition of the illness that was robbing life from me, had centred around an infamous drop on the scale. But I already knew that my weight was down; my joints moaned in affirmation with every minor movement and my stomach knawed away at empty air, as I feigned feeling full after a day of eating far less than what my body actually needed…
