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I was 15 when I "discovered" the fine art
of starving and "getting sick." It quickly became my biggest
secret, my hidden world, and I protected it at all cost
for over half my life. I was truly shocked to learn, back
in 1970-71 that there were others who knew about this. I
was enraged and terrified when my mother received a letter
from my grandmother. Folded in the letter was a magazine
article. My mother tried to keep it from me, but I saw it
long enough to see a skeletal girl with the words "anorexia
nervosa" written above her in bold black letters. My blood
turned to ice as I realized for the first time that others
knew. This realization made me angry. It made me less special.
After finally having something to call my very own, others
took it for themselves. I felt threatened and betrayed.
My hate for and affinity to this girl confused me. It was
as though I'd "lost my innocence." You know how once you
see or know something you cannot from that moment on, not
see it or not know it? I can still feel the chill that sliced
through me when I realized that if others knew about this,
they might know that there was something wrong with me.
The need for secrecy was satisfied by the need to isolate.
I could not reconcile the guilt that weighed so heavily
upon me. To this day, however, I cannot identify the sadness
that accompanied the guilt that came from the idea that
what I was doing was so bad that to be found out would be
the worst thing in the world, but I was obsessed and controlled
by it. The thought of being without was unimaginable, like
a piece of my very existence being ripped away.
There have been so many movies and books
about anorexia and bulimia that the subject should be exhausted.
I don't think it is. I still have much more to add to this.
There are so many levels of complicated thought processes
and one-track behavior rolled into an unreachable ball.
I think when something like this takes over your life, and
wraps itself so tightly around you it overtakes reality-based
perception and replaces it with some exaggerated image.
There's not much that can be done by way of a quick cure
to a healthy self-image, because it is everything we are.
It takes just one disappointing look in the mirror, at a
low and vulnerable point, to forever change a self-image.
From then on the reflection is distorted, or more distorted
than it was. It will never be perfect. It will never be
good enough. No matter what the reflection is after that
or what the scale says or what the size is, it will be regarded
as a lie. A size 4 really only means something if you're
not a size 4 yet. Once there, it isn't good enough. Once
there, the novelty is gone, and it's time to move down to
size 3. I guess everyone knows that anorexia is not about
size, really. It's more the fear of growing up; being a
woman and the responsibility that goes along with it, fear
of men and sex, fear of having to operate as an adult in
an adult world on an adult level. I found out years later
that during the time spent absorbed with control of weight
all other processes stop, meaning that the maturity I had
as a teenager when I began this was the same maturity I
had after 13 years. Do you know what I mean? No emotional
development happens. It's like treading deep waters all
the time, but never getting anywhere.
Having to face responsibilities and work
with the "big guys" in business was like being threatened
with the guillotine every day. I woke up in the grip of
fear and dread in the middle of the night, praying for the
world or me to end. I wanted to just not wake up anymore.
I was so afraid. With life so out of control, and the overwhelming
feelings of powerlessness and helplessness, I was dynamite
just waiting for a match.
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