My Inner Battle

Since I was about thirteen years old, I've wanted to lose weight. I've never been officially overweight, but I have been on the thicker side. My weight loss efforts have come in waves throughout the years. I would spend months eating next to nothing (although a year and a half of that time was drug induced), and then suddenly start eating normally again. It was as if I had reoccuring temporary anorexia.  

When I went to my dad's house, which was about one weekend out of every month, I would binge eat, ruining all of my hard work. All weekend I would eat everything I saw. Then for weeks afterward (if I was going through a non-eating phase), I would eat very little. This would go on for as long as six months (without the drugs. Up to a straight year if I was using). Then my eating habits would return to that of a normal person's, if not greater than that of a normal person's.

Though I ate often, I felt a craving for hunger; that emptiness in my stomach, and feeling so faint when I stood up, losing my balance, the discoloration of my fingernails; it was all so oddly invigorating. There was some sort of thrill to be found in purposely destroying my health. While I still watched my weight, and still stressed about it, I would make no efforts to change it. During an eating phase, I could gain up to twenty pound, though it was usually more like ten. I also had little minisodes of anorexic tendancies during my eating phases. I would not eat anything for a day, (just by chance and a lack of hunger, not true efforst) but then ruin that work the next day with two whole meals. I've been known to spend months balancing just over 120 pounds, never motivated for long enough to get beneath. Sometimes it feels like I'm almost a different person when I linger longer than desired in an eating phase. It's as if I don't even care about the same things. I incessantly nag myself about my eating habits, but losing weight just doesn't seem as important as tasting that brownie. I'm constantly frustrated with myself along with the scale, but my own frustration doesn't phase me. My food consumption will end up leading to the lowering of my self esteem, which, after months of gaining weight, will lead to self starvation once again.

While "dieting", as I often called it to avoid the truth, I would become obsessed with how to constantly help my weight loss efforts. I would look up tips to curb cravings, to avoid eating, to get over the inevitable newbie's hunger pains, to burn extra calories, and even to hide what I was doing and avoid being caught. I learned many ticks to aid my efforts. I would spend much of my free time researching anorexia, it's definition, diagnosis, treatment, theories, psychological aspects, media attention, etc. I would look up pictures of grossly skinny women and compare myself to them. To be honest, the truly disgusting ones could almost make want to eat. But I did admire the ones with the hollow cheeks harboring well defined bones across them, and the ribs that a talented musician could manage to play like a xylophone. I can clearly recall the stench of cat urine on my breath from going through ketosis. Every pair of jeans I put on that proceeded to fall right back down was a burt of joy within. Every size smaller I grew was another day of ecstacy. Every bit bonier I became was a rush of exhileration. With ever new rib I could see, I became filled with adrenaline so powerful my knees would shake.  I took each symptom as encouragement. Every negative effect that malnutrition had on my body was a reminder that I was being successful. Despite the way I interpreted these effects, they still troubled me. Yet, when I would go through an eating phase, I even missed the worriment.

I knew exactly what to expect when I would begin my diet. I immediately knew to have excuses prearranged for why I'm not eating. "I had a large lunch". "I don't eat that". "I can't have that on my dief." "I'm going out with a friend later, and I don't want to spoil my appetite". "I'm not feeling well".

"I'm allergic to that". "I just ate". There were endless possibilities. I knew that for the first week or so, I would feel an unpleasant for of hunger. Luckily, I knew that if I could withstand the pains for about and hour, I would stop noticing them. A few days into the diet, I would begin to get dizzy. I would have to start standing up more slowely. Upon awakening, I would have to lay in bed for a while and very slowly sit up. Due to the fact that our bathroom has no vents, I would have to make my showers colder so that the steam didn't shorten my breath and cause me to faint. After two or three weeks (depending on how serious I was taking it), I would have to start keeping my fingernails painted. I would have to wear slightly larger clothing so that no one would notice how skinny I was getting. I wouldn't be able to wear extremely baggy clothing either; it would surely raise suspicions. I would need to start drinking more water to reduce dizziness.

This has been going on for four years. For the last two and a half years, very little of my weight loss was with the help of any drug. I've never gotten too thin. I've had many people worry about me, and watch me eat to make sure I was. My doctor has noted that I have chronic weight loss. My therapist gave me medication that was partially meant to get me to eat more. But nothing too severe has ever come from my being thin. I always start eating before it gets too serious. My therapist diagnosed me with disassociative identity disorder. He was very clear that I have a very minor case of it. He did say, however, that he believes there are two sides to my personality that could be growing further apart. I wonder if my stages of starving myself compared to my stages of uncontrolable consumption might be linked to the two possible parts of myself.

ejordan ejordan
18-21, F
Mar 5, 2010