My Relationship With Food (Long)

[Guest IsabelleStPierre]

Greetings Everyone,

The other night I was out to dinner and drinks with some friends we somehow got on the topic of eating, weight, etc. which is a topic I always try my hardest to avoid. At some point during the conversation I came out and admitted that I’m a recovering anorexic. Even though I’ve not had problems with my anorexia in some time, I always say I’m a “recovering anorexic” because anorexia seems to be a lot like alcoholism; you truly live from one day to the next and the smallest of things can knock you off that wagon quickly.

Now it seems that people always like to make comments and observations about my eating habits; namely how little I eat. It’s more than that mind you, as a vegetarian with numerous food allergies what I can eat is severely limited by both my medical constraints and my chosen constraints on what I can and cannot eat.

I am not sure just how my relationship with food was formed but I have never really thought of it as being any different than other people's relationship with food. It would take a few life altering events to teach me otherwise.

I have always been small; something that has never bothered me to be honest. I was never picked to play sports in school (thank god). There have been times being small hasn't always been a blessing, like when in junior high and I wanted to try to play the saxophone; my hands were too small to fit around the instrument to form some of the notes.

To me, size played an ever increasing part of myself image. I was growing up and hated how tall I had become and I was going to be damned if I was going to allow myself to get any bigger than I was. I believe that is when my relationship with food took a turn for the worst.

Every morning I would get up and get ready for school; something we all did growing up right? Well, I would wander off to the bathroom to do my makeup and hair to match whatever mood I happened to be in at the time but the problem was that my mortal enemy lay right inside the bathroom door. Sitting there every morning, mocking me, calling me fat, saying "come on I dare you", it would taunt. "I double dare you! Come on, just step on me!" Most mornings I would try to ignore it but I knew it was watching me and wouldn't leave me alone until it was satisfied that I confirmed to it just how much of a fat pig I had become. Tossing the hair brush down onto the counter, I stripped off my clothes and stood there in bra and panties. Contemplating, should I do it?? No, I can't; but I have to, I can't resist the not knowing. Off came the bra and panties as my foot hovered over my enemy (hey, they do weight something you know). A smile of victory on its face; at 5' 7" I was 105 pounds ... a verdict that told me no breakfast that morning.

It was my senior year of high school. I had finally been accepted as myself by the vast majority of people, no minor victory either mind you, but that senior year I was getting bigger. Not taller, just bigger and damn if I was going to let that interfere with how good I was finally feeling about myself. There was only one way to deal with the problem, stop eating or at least drastically cut back what I did eat. That was when my relationship with food took a horrible turn for the worst.

When I looked in the mirror I saw every little ounce of fat; I looked hideous.

I started counting every single calorie that passed my lips. I cut way back, down to 500 calories or less per day. If I went over that limit, I would do some form of workout to burn them off. There was no going over 500 calories per day; it just was not to be tolerated. I was going to lose weight if it killed me; funny thing is that it almost did.

The first day was the worst. My stomach growled non-stop in protest at the lack of anything for it to do, but I ignored it or drank a ton of water to shut the damn thing up. The second day was easier, the third easier, until I wasn't eating anymore than a handful of celery sticks and carrots in a day. My mortal enemy had not won the battle just yet! In two weeks I lost 15 pounds. I was winning! Or so I thought. The only problem was that when I looked in the mirror all I could see was how fat I still was; damn it!

Week three didn't go to well. I was getting constant headaches and was always tired. I missed most of that week of school because I just didn't have the energy to get out of bed. I chalked it up to the flu. Those days I missed, all I had to eat was some broth; I mean I was sick right? Did you know that a can of broth only has something like 20 calories for the entire can??? Neither did I until that week, so from then on broth became a new best friend.

Week four was the worst. I was no longer feeling hungry; in my mind that was great, but the constant dizziness, tiredness, etc. was taking a toll on my performance at school. A number of my friends asked if I was OK because I looked like a walking skeleton at best, death warmed over was another, but I made it through week 4 alive.

Monday, week five of not eating. I got to school on time and remember having to run to get to first period before the bell. I made it to class in a nick of time, diving in through the door before the bell, and collapsed unconscious on the floor right inside the doorway. Next thing I know, Mr. Karington, the teacher, was there standing over me, looking down with a sad look on his face, he knelt down and picked me up with one arm. He said something to the class and carried me to the nurse’s office. No matter how much I complained that I was fine; none of these dang adults were listening to me.

The nurses office had a much larger version of my enemy just inside the doorway. What is it about putting those dang things right inside of doorways anyway, I mean there's no missing the bloody thing when you have to trip over it to just get in or out of the room. Worst of all was that they wanted me to stand on the stupid thing. I stopped, slipped off my shoes, took off my earrings, my belts and anything I could that might possibly affect the thing; all the while the school nurse was making a few notes. What? Doesn't everyone take off as much as they can before stepping on the bloody thing?? Well, I guess they don't if they are at school.

76 pounds! I was horrified! I screamed that can't be right!! I was only 74 pounds an hour ago!! It can't be right I cried and starting to sob uncontrollably as the nurse guided me to one of the cots to lay down.

"When did you eat last?" She asked.

"Um, yesterday why?"

"What did you eat?"

"Some broth, carrots, celery and a piece of toast, why?"

"When’s the last time you actually ate a meal?"

"Um, I don't know. Is it important?"

"Just lay down dear and get some rest"

"OK" I said laying back onto the cot. I don't remember falling asleep but I must have almost instantly. I was tired, more tired than I had ever felt in my life.

I woke when the EMT picked me up to put me on the gurney. To be honest I didn't have the strength to fight about it either. He gave the nurse a strange look when he picked me up with such ease.

My life only went downhill from there for a period of time. At the hospital my mother was there too. Great, she's going to be so peed about being pulled from work for this.

After they examined me they came in to talk to my mother...

"Your daughter is suffering from anorexia Ms. ****"

Mom blinked a couple of times, looked at me, and then back to the doctor. "What's the normal method of treating this?"

"Well, anorexia is a psychological disorder and we usually treat it by recommending therapy, but in your daughters case her life is seriously at risk and we doubt she'd follow a therapists recommendations willingly."

"So? What do you suggest?"

"Well, if you'd just sign these papers we can get her admitted to the mental health ward where she'll stay until we're confident that she's going to eat and not be a risk to herself."

"Fine. Maybe you guys will have some luck. Oh by the way, that’s my son." She said as she signed the papers and turned and left.

God damn parents! I burst into tears and it took them a good couple of hours to calm me from that.

I was in the hospital for 11 weeks before they released me and I then still had daily visits for the next two months. I had to take lunch in the nurses’ office at school until they all were satisfied that I was at least eating 1000 calories a day.

While I would like to say that my relationship was changed by these events, it wasn't. I still do not eat much and then only when someone reminds me to eat or I consciously stop to think about the last time I ate. Otherwise I simple don't eat. My hunger mechanism doesn't work anymore as with other people; in that I never feel hungry.

Oh well, the conversation the other night seems to have dug up some old feelings and thoughts.

Peace, love, and contentment,

Isabelle

[Guest Julie T]

Isabelle

I was almost 6'3" when graduated from high school and I weighed 140 pounds. My parents went crazy trying to find clothes that would fit me. I weighed 178 when I graduated from college and was a thin gawky 'guy.' I ate food, I liked food, I would just forget to eat most days. I am an inch shorter now and 206 pounds now at age 64. I look fine but have a tummy that has slipped down under my belly button, that I want to lose. For my height and age as a woman, my weight is supposed to be 186 pounds and I will get there. But I gained a love of food, my appetite developed, at about age 30.

The point is my low weight as a young person seemingly helped me stay healthier than most medical people suggest. I don't have the deterioration of the joints so many have at age 64, probably because I was always slim. But anorexia and bulimia can be another story. Karen Carpenter died from complications from that as she ruined her internal organs, Everyone needs to keep a balance, 2000 calories a day is maintenance for me. I suggest everyone research what amount of food they should eat daily and if you are MTF, use a woman's guidelines, especially if you are on HRT.

Julie

[Guest Fey]

Isabelle

I can relate to your problem because I have struggled with anxiety my whole life. They are similar problems because one feels anxioius about something specific. For you it's about food; for me it's about germs.

Sometimes we have to do things for our own good. There have been times when I have felt like staying home for fear of dealing with the world. But I have made myself deal with things head on. One thing that helps is keeping some sort of schedule or order.

Perhaps it would help you to keep a schedule of when to eat? Be it by using an alarm on a watch, a cell phone alarm, a planner, or any means you desire, eating at scheduled times could help you create a habit. You can figure out how many calories you need to give your body a day to keep it healthy and spread that out during the day. Doing this could make you feel in control of your problem with food.

You can feel reasurred that you aren't overeating because you are sticking to the schedule and calorie amount. You feel empowered and you keep yourself healthy as well.

Best of wishes,

Fey