When I was eleven, I was in a dancing group... The teacher's pet. I
always danced front row- middle, helped the choreographer teach the
steps. And in the five-minute-breaks, he would pick me up high in the
air, saying: "you are so skinny... all dancers should be like you!"
When it was time for the first solo, everyone was sure I'm going to
get that role. But I didn't. Instead, I got a position in the second
row. I also stopped receiving compliments for my light weight at that
time. I was convinced my skills as a dancer were no longer good, as a
result of gaining weight.
I started my first diet then, as a skinny eleven year-old child. It
didn't last for more than a week, but in retrospective, this was the
first place where I learned, or taught myself, that the perfection I
always strive for would be in my reach if I was skinny... In my
competitive mind, it soon became: If I was the skinniest.
Since then, I transferred to a bigger dancing group. I went around
the world with this group. Made friend, and built up a little of the
self esteem I always lacked, when I got solos and front row positions.
But I grew up, and had to "graduate" and move to the next group.
I wasn't as comfortable there. My friend, who transferred with me
made new friend in this group. The older guys started flirting with
them, and the new choreographer loved them. I felt alone, ugly and
worthless.
Dancing was the only thing I always had going for me. The only
thing I knew I'm good at. And I felt like it was taken from me.
In that time of my life, when I was fourteen, my social life, my
school grades and my dancing "carrier" all seemed to fall apart. I felt
like everything was out of control.
I don't know why I chose a diet. I needed a change, and I don't know
why that was the change I chose. Maybe it was for attention: I knew
that if anything, I was underweight, but I convinced myself that losing
a few lbs would make me feel in control again, would make me visible to
others... maybe I would even get one of those guys to flirt with me...
It wasn't a slow process, like with most people. From the very
beginning I started obsessing about my weight, counting calories, and
starving myself. My friends warned me back then, that I'm becoming
obsessed, and I'm heading in a very dangerous direction. I didn't
listen.
Six months later, my parents still did not notice a thing. It was
probably easier to look the other way than to face reality. Everyone
else didn't have a problem facing reality: My teachers started coming
to me, sometimes throwing hints about their concern, and sometime
bluntly saying: "eat!". My friends called my "anorectic", and
threatened to call my parents and tell them that's what I am, if I
don't start eating
I couldn't let my parents know that people think I have a problem.
I always wanted to be the best daughter I could, and I didn't want to let
them down. What else could I do? I started eating.
Every time I would crave food, I would convince myself that I
have to eat, or my friends will tell my parents I have a problem.
That's when I started binge eating. I spent my days in the kitchen-
binging, and my nights in the bed- crying, filled with guilt and shame
for eating.
After a while, my mother noticed I was spending so much time
eating. My mother was a skinny girl, who started gaining weight in her
teens, and today she is overweight. She told me I shouldn't eat so
much, or I would end up like her. I know she didn't mean for it to
sound like my life would be ruined if I was fat, but her remarks, along
with the guilt I was feeling and the inner voice, that told me I would
never be good enough if I wasn't skinny... all these things together
made me feel I HAVE to lose weight. My goal-weight now was much lower
than it was when I started the diet.
But it was much harder than it was in the first six months. Now
that I knew the taste of binging it was hard to stop eating. I started
thinking more and more about vomiting... What once look disgusting,
started making since... What once seemed sick, now felt like
salvation... What was once "throwing up" was now "purging".
My bulimia carrier started: self induced vomiting, laxatives and
diet pills. It was a very short carrier, as a friend of mine found out,
and was quick to tell the school counselor. When that happened, all the
teachers found out, and so did my mother. I don't recall her exact
response, but it was something like: "How could YOU do this to ME?",
while grabbing my shoulders and shaking me. At the time I thought it
was an awful reaction, but today I know many parents react this way,
and it's understandable. Sure, it's not the ideal reaction, nor is it
the one that will help the child, but seeing your child hurting
himself/herself is probably the hardest thing a parent could be asked to see.
What wasn't normal, however, about my mother's reaction, was the
fact that soon afterwards, the subject was forgotten. In the beginnig I
felt she was still upset, and did not want to discuss it, but when she
started talking again about how I have to watch my weight, or I'll get
fat, I understood she simply... went into a state of denial.
I know I contributed to her denial: She was told this terrible thing about her daughter, and inside, she probably ached for me to deny it, and I did: I told her I wasn't bulimic, and she got the answer she needed to hear.
At this point, I was too afraid of being caught to purge. I started
restricting my food intake again, but not successfully. I would eat
nothing till the evening, when I would give in to my craves, and binge.
Today, my fear of being caught is no longer, and I am back on the
laxatives and the self induced vomiting. As time passes, I binge less
and purge more, which means that today, I purge whenever I eat. (Though
I still have a difficulty when my mother is in the house: I physically
have a harder time throwing up when she is around.)
I am 17 today, and have been suffering from an eating disorder for
the past 2.5 years, going from anorexia to bulimia, and back to
anorexia, and so forth.
I know this sounds weird, but I have an image of this disease in my
head. Something a little more physically valid, to help me cope with
the theoretical concept. I call her Ana, and see her as both my savior
and my tormentor. As my guide and my assassin. As my ray of hope, and
the darkness of my doom.
It's not long ago, that I admitted to myself that I have a problem.
And now the question that stands in front of me is: whether or not I
want to be cured. It is not a simple question to answer, because the
way out of this world is very hard and bumpy. Many of my friends say:
"why can't you just eat?", but it's not that simple.
The truth is, a part of me wants to die. A part of me wants Ana to
kill me. I do not believe I deserve to live. I believe I am worthless
and hopeless.
But even though I don't think I deserve to be healthy and happy, I
still want it deep inside, just like anybody else. And the part of me
that wants to be healthy, and eat with no guilt... the part of me that
wants to accept myself, and be accepted... that is the part I should
hold on to, the voice I should listen to... and maybe I will have some
hope of recovery...
