I’ve been plagued with every manner of eating disorder in my short life. the first started with the plain irritation of being irrefutably too thin. at the wrong time. like when I was 12. every single one of my friends were on diets. in high school, the grapefruit and egg one was big, as was Atkins, or, the “I only eat lettuce and carrots” one. when I’d go to these “I will not eat, but I will cook for you!” friends homes, they’d delight in stuffing me with grilled cheese sandwiches and piroshki - because as anyone on a diet knows, there’s nothing better than watching other people eat what you won’t… with the secret hope they’ll get fat, right?
up until college, I could still eat a bear - not a real one, but I could out eat anyone, and never gain an ounce. then something happened. all the girls around me, as usual, were on a diet. it got to me. I thought, maybe I was too fat? this was the first time this had occurred to me, so I too went on a diet, a very restrictive, college freshman type of diet. I’d have one box of instant oatmeal with a carton of milk in the morning, and a nice, hot, stove top ramen at night. period. I must’ve lost a lot of weight, but I liked it. I felt good. in control. I felt sexy and powerful and I thought, I had this! until I got really hungry, and m & m’s and chocolate and peanut butter and chips and pretty much anything else not tied down, started calling my name. loudly. and so it began. the nightmare. and it always was at night, mostly. there seemed to be a part of me in control during the day. but when the lights went on, and dusk settled in, let’s face it, I was hungry, and, I did not have a plan. the only plan was to not eat. but the part of me that wanted to eat seemed to have more say, and more power, and so another day would be ruined by a giant binge, and once you get started, I mean, why stop? it’s all ruined anyway, right?