Jeans

Quote of the day~ "In my distress, I called to the Lord and he answered me."

~Jonah 2:2

Having been told I wouldn’t be pretty anymore if I lost too much weight, I’m no stranger to living with an eating disorder. Questions like, “Has she lost weight again?” from one parent to another are a common occurrence.

I first wanted to be skinnier in sixth grade. I loved skirts and dresses, but whenever I wore jeans, I was aware of the sizing number 12. I was tall, and that meant at 11, I was forced out of the junior’s clothing section. I remember how awful I felt trying on a new pair of jeans and knowing if they fit my legs, they wouldn’t fit over my butt, and if they fit over my butt, they would slide down my waist.

A friend complained once about how she’d gone up from a size 0 to a size 2. I sat silently knowing I belonged to a size much higher. This was my “aha” moment—perhaps I should be concerned also.

I focused on my height for the next two years. After all, I was constantly told by strangers I should model, and what’s a model without her height?

Eighth grade came, and I now felt anxiety around food. My habit of not eating during times of emotional distress was set off in part by my parents’ divorce. Another thought marred my mind: I attracted the uncomfortable attention of older men, and I was constantly followed around in public places.

I couldn’t control my height, but if I were skinnier, I would not attract unwarranted attention. I internalized this thought and felt sick whenever I thought about eating. This feeling of internal unrest with my body made a mockery of me. I became an emblem of a girl who did not eat.

I had anxiety about my writing capabilities also.

In November 2018, there was a possibility I’d soon be a published author; I’d met an editor through my creative writing class. Eventually, things fell through, as he wouldn’t discuss my book unless I had lunch or dinner with him at a fancy restaurant where he promised to be my “parental guardian” for the day. Barely a 16-year-old girl, here I was capturing the attention of a 30-something-year-old man. As my hopes for being a novelist burned to ashes, I thought again if I ascribed to the “model look” of being 5’10” and 130 pounds, I’d lose the fixation of older men.

Suffocating beneath my desire to be perfect, I’d spend the rest of high school eating so little I’d nearly faint daily, sticking my fingers through my ribcage and believing help was a world away. When COVID-19 arrived, I was surviving on one meal a day and 50 ounces of honeyed, raspberry tea. I’d become both quietly upset and vocally proud of how I’d dropped from a size 10 to barely a nine in jeans.

It seemed regression was here to stay.

College came with the confirmation I have disordered eating habits. Long were the days of over-exercising and under-eating, and each time I returned home for a weekend, my family argued about whether I was too thin to be healthy.

Summer came, and I was asked again the hard questions about eating by my doctor. She remarked that it’s a long life to live without enjoying food. She said I was too meticulous and subjected me to lab tests, because how had I not gained any weight in six years?

Sophomore year started in August 2021, and being a double major with a minor, editor and tutor took its toll. I never had time to eat. I was too busy. This is what I told myself as I trudged from classes, meetings and work while edging towards collapsing.

It’s spring break now, and while I’ve been home for one day, I’ve already been asked whether I eat enough, because my face is “too skinny.” The ugly bags under my eyes will cause me to not be beautiful, my family says.

I am not in recovery, but maybe I should be, as I’m always worried my tenacious spirit, perfectionism and willingness to sacrifice myself for the next story will harm me past the point of recovery.

So here I am, writing a blog because despite being told to keep this part of my life hidden, I’d like to live authentically. I may still not wear jeans, but I can at least raise awareness about disordered eating, available resources and the hidden victims of these mental conditions.