First, I want to say, I'm not writing this as an anti- or pro- eating disorder article. I know that some people do it for completely different reasons, and I'm not completely "qualified" to cover anything about those reasons.
At A Glance Author anonymous Contact [email protected] When N/A Growing up, I was always, and I mean ALWAYS, the weird 'misfit' kid. I always knew there was something about me that was just completely different from everybody else in my elementary school. This was no surprise to me, though... while my mom and brother seemed like completely 'normal' people (for the most part), my dad and I have always been almost exactly alike, in every way possibly. And when he was younger, he was always the weird misfit kid, too. So I didn't feel so bad about it, I knew it was bound to be like that for one of his kids, and I was "the chosen one". For a while, I hated it, but I came to realize that it was who I was, and there was nothing I could do to change it. Eventually, it was all just fine, to me.
I can remember being really young, and looking at slightly over-weight, or even average sized people, and thinking, "I'll never end up like that". Like what? I didn't know. Until I was about 9.
It only started when I was 9. I remember sitting in my room, because my family has never been the type to eat at the table together. I would eat about a quarter of what was on my plate, and throw the rest away in the garbage can in my room. Then I would wait a while, and take my plate out, acting as if I had eaten it all. My parents never questioned it, because they didn't think they had anything to question. Eventually, I didn't care. At first, I just cut down on what I was eating. Eventually, by the time I was about 10, I refused to eat, most of the time. Every few days, I'd eat something like a baked potato, or half of a sandwich. Then it went down to eating something like a few fries, or about a quarter of a snack-pack of potato chips, or half a handful of popcorn, every couple of days.
When I was 11, I had three months, from March until about half-way through June, where I absolutely refused to eat. For these three months, I basically survived on orange gatoraid, water, and a womens' multi-vitamin that I was told by my doctor to take at least every day. I would only take one a week. Before long, my doctors put me on pills to increase my appetite. Most of the time, with those, I would stand in the kitchen with my mom watching me take them. I remember having a glass of water, and I'd say about 8 or 9 out of 10 times, I would manage to slip the pills into my back pocket, and pretend I was taking them. Then I would throw them on the ground during my walk to the bus stop, or throw them down a sink at school. The doctors assumed that I either wasn't taking them, or they just didn't effect me, and/or, I managed to ignore the hunger. They did all they could. They put me on strong antacids, because without anything to absorb it, my stomach acid was increasing, and doing serious damage. I took the antacids, because I knew I needed to.
About three quarters of the way through the first month, I got incredibly sick, and was hospitalized. This is when they started questioning it. Could an eleven year old girl really have this advanced a case of anorexia? They didn't think so. They did blood tests, barium swallows, and whatever the hell you call it, where they shoved wires with cameras on them down my throat, into my stomach, and took pictures. They would ask why I was refusing to eat, and I would just tell them that I wasn't hungry.
Then I was hospitalized a second time. Things started to change, though. They would put IV's in my hands, and I would pull them out as soon as the nurses left my room. I remember at night, they would change or replace my IV, and then leave me alone for the night. They had my hands strapped to the bed, so I wouldn't pull it out, so I sat up as much as I could, and got ahold of the IV tube, in my mouth. I just kept working at it until I was able to pull it out. Needless to say, the nurses were NOT impressed. So they started questioning more, they knew it wasn't just that I had stomach problems, and wasn't hungry.
They started doing some serious questioning about my current mental state. They showed me pictures of various sized girls, and asked what I thought. They would have me rely with 'underweight", "overweight", or "average", and seemed surprised when, after being shown a picture of a girl who was maybe slightly overweight, I still replied with "average", and to a picture of a girl who was slightly smaller than average, I replied with "underweight".
It wasn't that I thought I was fat, I just thought I could lose a few more pounds.
By the beginning of the third month, I was about 5'2, and weighed roughly 65lbs. To be exact, I think the lightest I got in the three months was 62 or 63lbs. But my doctors seemed shocked. They figured it was a typical case of anorexia, in a girl much younger than most with the disorder, but I still kept myself fairly healthy. Most of the time, I was quite energetic. A lot of the time, I would get light-headed and nearly pass out any time I stood up too fast, but other than that, I could go a normal day without feeling tired or worn out at all. My blood pressure was near perfect, and even though I definitely looked it, I didn't actually seem to be all that malnourished or anything. I don't know how I managed, either. But I did. I was just like any other normal, energetic, maybe even overly-hyper eleven year old... except that, I didn't eat.
I remember my mom going into my school, and leaving notes with my principals and teachers, explaining what was going on. This was partly because I was missing a lot of school, for doctors' appointments, and partly just in case I passed out in school or anything. I honestly thought this was the worst part of it all. Having my teachers nag me about it. Any time they would hand out candy or anything in class, I would just slip mine into my pocket, say "no thanks", or give it to a friend, and I would be yelled at, in front of the rest of the class. But eventually, I didn't mind that, either.
Mid-June that year marked the beginning of a long "recovery", but I knew it wouldn't be the end of it. It took months of harsh fighting with parents and doctors. It wasn't that I felt like I -shouldn't- be eating, but they still had to convince me. I remember one of my aunts literally shoving spoonfuls of chicken soup into my mouth, and holding my mouth shut until I chewed and swallowed it, while yelling at me, calling me ungrateful and selfish. That didn't phase me. I knew I would get my eating habits back to something somewhat normal, eventually, I just needed time to decide for myself.
Eventually, I did get it back to normal, though. And I decided I didn't like it that way. Partly because, while I didn't think I was overweight at all, I even realized I was underweight... I just thought I could lose a few more pounds. And partly because I felt too normal, too sane, on a regular schedule. It felt more "normal" in my world, to constantly be thinking of new ways to avoid eating.
Today, while my eating habits are back to normal most of the time, I still have my "moments". Sometimes, at least every two or three months, I'll go a week or two at a time without eating anything, not even a single bite. Sometimes, I'd say about once a year, sometimes longer, I have times where I'll eat nothing for a week, and then one day, I'll eat like normal...then I'll have a few more days of not eating, and then pick at a plate of food, and then another week or so, and eat about half a meal. That goes on for 1-3 months, and then my eating habits slowly get back to normal.
As I said, it's not that I think I'm fat, and it's not that it's the one and only thing I feel like I can control. It's just that, I know I'm able to lose and re-gain drastic amounts of weight, and sometimes, I feel better when I'm having these times of completely refusing to eat. Part of me needs to feel completely opposite from most people, who have normal healthy eating habits, by finding ways to avoid eating, by having times when I'm extremely emaciated and frail, but knowing that I can go back to 'normal' eating habits any time I want to.
But I'd have to say most of it is about pushing my own body's limits.