by Danah Khalil
July 26, 2012
It is a great comfort to me, knowing that I am strong enough to stare at practically any food and simply walk away – even as my stomach growls from starvation and my body aches from malnourishment.
Food, at the moment, feels to me like the only aspect of my life over which I have complete control. I crave self-control; greater self-control equals less consumption.
But stretching that self-control too far is what caused the stranger’s voice in my mind and the foreign figure under my skin to emerge victorious. I may have learned to control my appetite, but I cannot control myself from dancing with the disorder. I may have become strong enough to exercise for hours a day, but I cannot gather the strength to climb out of the pit.
July 31, 2012
Last week’s drop has been erased as though it had never happened. My weight has climbed back up to 107 pounds, and although a smile may have crossed my lips, tears began to fall later, during the first family therapy session. How is it that can I be so physically strong, yet so emotionally weak? Seeing my mother tear up as well triggered more non-stop crying. I couldn’t help it. I feel so undeniably guilty for all of the pain and worry I have caused her. Why must she cry? She needs to be strong for us both.
Strangely enough, I don’t mind my therapist. She doesn’t mention weight or calories very often, since, as she explains, the main goal is for me to achieve separation from my disorder. But I have yet to close the vast distance between recovery and me, for the demon sticks to me like Super Glue.
We are inseparable.
Forever melded into one.
It is quite challenging to open up to my therapist one-on-one, but with my parents present, it is even more problematic. One day, I hope to be able to tell them the entire truth. Perhaps until I describe every harrowing detail aloud, I will never truly heal…. But right now, I’m too busy holding back tears to speak, and the demon’s ghastly hand over my mouth is forbidding me to tell the truth.
Lately, I have had to eat even more than usual to compensate for my secret workouts at home; volleyball practice sessions in the backyard, and soccer three times a week. I have to tell myself repeatedly that eating more to balance my exercise routine is both crucial and normal to avoid a mental breakdown. I love to enhance my fitness, and I love to eat, so essentially, it is a win-win….
But is it though? With Ed still breathing down my neck and whispering in my ear, I believe everything he tells me:
Keep doing crunches, and then you can have one extra meatball.
August 1, 2012
In three days, my family and I (unfortunately) must leave for another (terrible) fucking family vacation. This year, we are venturing to the “magical” city of New York, but our trips are always far from relaxing and cheerful.
Although I anticipate this vacation to have its usual share of bickering and bitching, I have no doubt that it will go down on record as one of the most chaotic in family history because of the extra guest in our hotel room, Ed. I feel as though I am tearing my family apart. My mother cries, my dad roars, and my sister fusses that no one is paying any attention to her. Certainly, all eyes will be locked on me this week; noting what I order, how much I actually eat, and if I exercise.
With three restaurant meals a day, no opportunity to work out, and the extra consumption of my Boosts and granola bars, I will certainly gain weight. However, I am not particularly excited about this kind of unhealthy weight gain, since it will be miles outside of my comfort zone.
Do you know how much butter and salt they add to restaurant meals?
Why do you think North Americans have become so FAT?
I pray that Mother will allow me to use the gym in our hotel. I believe that compromising is key: if I eat big meals – maybe even dessert – then she will have no choice but to lighten up. There are several mandatory core exercises and yoga stretches that I must complete daily – they are not an option – but what if I am refused access? Will I be forced to secretly work out in our hotel bathroom? Anxiety overwhelms me again, only this time it is much worse than when I went to Quebec all those months ago. I know damn well that I will not be granted the luxury of skipping meals this time.
August 2, 2012
Oh, my God.
I really do need help.
There is someone else inside of me typing these words.
“Do not let it consume you.”
It consumes me.
“Do not let it frighten you.”
It frightens me.
“Do not let it control you.”
It controls me.
“Do not let it suffocate you.”
It suffocates me.
“Do not let it harm you.”
It harms me.
“Do not let it influence you.”
It influences me.
“Do not let it confuse you.”
It confuses me.
“Do not let it weaken you.”
It weakens me.
“Do not let it define you.”
It defines me.
“Do not let it become you.”
It is me.
“Do not let it win.”
I.
Already.
Have.
August 11, 2012
Arriving home from a family vacation always puts me in the same state: teary-eyed, sleep-deprived, and hungry.
First off, I simply cannot stand New York City. It really is full of overweight people selling fatty, greasy food on dark, smelly streets piled high with garbage. How one can genuinely enjoy a vacation in such a place escapes me completely.
And just as anticipated, my family and I fought daily, and I was constantly being pressured to eat like everybody else…. I was not allowed to exercise at the gym – despite my constant pleas – meaning that I confined myself in our small hotel bathroom to perform my daily core exercises and yoga routine. I think that my family suspected what was happening behind the bathroom door, and this frightens me deeply.
As if things weren’t already terrible enough, I was forced to drink two Boosts and eat three granola bars plus the three restaurant meals daily. I have never had so many panic attacks before in such short order. One night at a restaurant, my mother’s classic disappointed glance made me feel so guilty that I had no choice but to order and completely devour a milkshake – a fucking milkshake!
I will never forgive you for that.
It tasted heavenly, but the demon goaded me into a ten-minute crying session in the ladies’ room shortly afterwards. Luckily, I gathered enough strength not to purge, even though Ed repeatedly tempted me to.
All you had to do was stick one little finger down your throat and problem solved.
Oh, and I took twenty fucking minutes to eat a damn granola bar in the hotel room; picking apart every little oat, chocolate chip, and nut cluster in my hand, and savoring the taste slowly, because that is what crazy fucking people do, and clearly I am fucking crazy.
August 13, 2012
You are the fattest little bitch I have ever seen in my life.
I do not think I have ever met anyone who eats so much.
You must be absolutely delusional to think that THAT was perfectly normal.
You are a fucking freak; a fucking fat, lazy, hideous freak with zero self-control.
I am so so sorry I did not mean to binge I swear but you see my game tonight was rained out and all I did earlier today was go on a bike ride so I didn’t know what to do I came home and instead of going to the movies with the soccer girls I went home and worked out more than I should have I do not know why I did it I suppose it is because Ed told me to but then I felt guilty so I went downstairs and opened the fridge door and saw leftover cake and for some reason I took out a piece and very slowly at first put it in my mouth then I realized how delicious and foreign it tasted so I
ate it yes I ate the whole piece but it did not stop there because I then turned to the cupboard and ate a handful of nuts and then a granola bar because you know I do not want to lose weight I cannot lose weight so I ate I ate I ate too much now I feel full and scared I am really really scared someone please help me never to repeat this because now I have to go work out again even though it is late at night and everyone is asleep I wonder if I will ever sleep tonight or if I will spend it worrying and scolding and worrying and scolding.
August 15, 2012
Since I am “young and athletic” with a typically high metabolism, my therapist reassured me that it is likely that my body will burn off the extra calories, as if it is now restricting weight gain similar to the way my mind does. Not that I discovered that I have lost weight at today’s assessment or anything. But I have only gained about three pounds, bringing my current weight to 110. Despite the limited progress, I still feel pride and relief flush over me when I see the little numbers on the scale increase weekly.
I have just fifteen more pounds to go until I reach my starting weight – before I encountered Ed. Of course, I still feel remarkably hesitant about returning to 125 – and immensely hesitant about gaining even more weight after I get there – but I am faced with no other choice. I’m at a crossroad: gain weight or be hospitalized.
Mental improvements this week have been noted as well. I have finally put an end to planning my meals and snacks beforehand. This accomplishment may seem rather insignificant, but the fact that I am beating Ed little by little, day by day, is quite uplifting. Ed may still be in the lead by an impressive amount, but now I am on the scoreboard. I may not be ready to throw a punch just yet; I am still the opponent who has been knocked out effortlessly and fallen to the ground. But at least I have regained the wherewithal to get up.
August 21, 2012
Total weight gain: 15 pounds.
Current weight: 112 pounds.
After speaking with my therapist about long-term options, I am reassured. Because of my quick progress, which has been better than that of most eating disorder patients, my appointments can move to every two weeks once school begins. She also suggested starting light workouts at home or joining my friends for fun physical activities if I eat more to compensate and continue to gain weight. Little does she know that I have never stopped my workouts at home. Either I am impressively good at being secretive, or everyone around me is completely unobservant.
I worry about missing school every two weeks for these appointments. After all, how many dentist excuses can one offer in a single year? Surely others will construct their own theories about my regular disappearances and weight fluctuations, as though they are all competing to see who can come closest to the truth.
All I would like for my graduating year is to be able to join sports teams and to have a positive experience without all eyes on me for once. Is that too much to ask? I suppose I can’t blame my peers if they stare; I am a wreck. I am like the walking dead.
August 24, 2012
“You see, Danah? Do you see how skinny you are compared to all of your friends?” Mother asked as I showed her the pictures from the beach last weekend. We were looking at a photo of all of us girls in our bikinis. While I can admit that – despite my weight gain – my shoulders are bonier than those of the others, that is only one petty detail. Take a look at my unreal six-pack abs or my long, lean legs.
“God, Mom, I am not that much thinner,” I replied.
“I mean, look at what happens when I cover our top halves with my hand. See? All of our legs are practically the same size!”
Mother shook her head slowly and stared at me for what felt like hours, her eyes betraying disappointment, fear, and anxiety. “No, Danah. No, they are not.”
Oh, please.
The bitch is just being delusional.
If anything, the only difference is that your legs are a little chubbier.
Ah! Now that Ed has pointed that out, I kind of see it…. And my leg muscles don’t show as much as those of some of my athletic friends. Fuck. That’s probably because of those fifteen fucking pounds of fat that I had to gain.
Angry and upset, I storm out without uttering another word to Mother. I hide in my room to cry and to work out.
August 28, 2012
I am always so fucking embarrassed during soccer games. Why? Well, first off, I never get played. It’s evident I am no longer strong, fast, or even sane enough to be trusted on the field. To make matters worse, I embarrass myself further by compulsively stretching behind the team bench during the entire fucking game. Why do I do this? I don’t have a choice; Ed forces me to.
Yeah, no shit.
Since you are not on the field, you are going to have to move that lazy ass somehow.
I dread going to my games because of the shame, the embarrassment, the anxiety, and the tears. Just last week, I was the final player to get put on with only a few minutes left. Since I really don’t give a fucking shit anymore, I got pissed at my coach and showed him attitude, forcing a fight with him on the bench. I cried my fucking eyes out. Even when I – miraculously – played for five minutes, I was crying my eyes out like a big, embarrassed baby. The second the referee blew his whistle to signal the end of the match, I grabbed my bag and darted out of there with such speed that I managed to surprise myself.
I didn’t think I could stand to look at either of my asshole coaches ever again, but my selfish, fucking mother forced me to attend all of this week’s practices and a game, even though all I wanted to do was hide in my little stretching cave and bawl.
I remember a time when I used to be so very talented and passionate about soccer; I really did have potential to shine.
But then I came along.
I showed you what is important in life.
Fuck soccer; it is all about the extensive workouts.
I remember voluntarily playing in the backyard every summer day with my dad and sister. I remember smiling and laughing and having confidence in my skills. I remember being invited to train with the regional team. And now? I don’t even look at a damn soccer ball unless absolutely forced to.
August 30, 2012
Continuing the trend of gaining approximately two pounds a week, I have now reached 114 pounds. As a reward, next week – the first week of school – I don’t have an appointment. From now on, if I maintain steady progress, the appointments will spread out from every two weeks, to monthly, to every six months, and so on.
Although that seems to be such a long way off, I have faith. Even the doctors and the therapists believe in me; they say that my motivation to recover thus far has been quite outstanding. Clearly, I really despise Ed and long for him to be ripped off of my back.
But now with school starting, anxiety has started to surge within me again. I have begun to worry, feeling increasingly nervous about school messing up the timing of my meals and snacks and workout schedule. This year will certainly be a tough challenge for Ed and me. I’m apprehensive that he will see this as a golden opportunity – presented on a silver platter – to beat me.
September 3, 2012
“Is that all you are having on your sub?” my friend asked me. I looked down at my six-inch whole-wheat sub with cheese and veggies, and for a moment I actually felt a pang of regret. My growling stomach indicated that I really should have at least ordered a foot-long if I wasn’t going to have any major source of protein for the remainder of the day.
But that flash of regret vanished almost immediately because I looked over at the heavy subs of my friends – one of them had Meatball Marinara, for crying out loud – and knew I had made the right decision.
“Yeah, well, you know, I don’t really like cold cuts anymore,” I mumbled. “And I didn’t want to risk feeling sick on the rides if I got a foot-long, you know?”
There was a brief silence before my Meatball Marinara friend spoke dryl
y.
“Yeah, no. I need food.”
Everyone laughed hysterically, as if it were the funniest goddamn thing anyone has ever heard. I smiled weakly and then proceeded to eat my sandwich in silence.
September 7, 2012
Great. Perfect. Just my fucking luck. This year’s gym class involves a great deal of fitness. Next week, for example, we are already faced with a beep test, a twelve-minute run, and strength assessments.
Yes, baby!
Imagine how fit you will be!
Although this news may excite Ed, it actually worries me, as I believe it will meddle with my weight gain. To some, this may seem like an easy fix: Why not simply cut back on the home workouts?
The solution is far from that simple, as my home workouts are designed each day for specific muscle groups and the different aspects of fitness. If I were to eliminate one at random, then clearly, that aspect would greatly suffer.
I am terrified that health class will rekindle familiar feelings and thoughts from last year, since healthy eating habits and daily exercise were the constant topics of discussion. Why must health classes always revolve around this material? Why don’t teachers feel the need to cover the issues that all of this “healthy eating” gibberish causes for teenagers? Can’t they see that the more the facts are impressed upon our vulnerable minds, the more likely we are to obsess over the details? Yet I wonder if this is true for everyone, or am I am the rare exception; a lost cause…. Did I take all of the numbers too seriously, causing myself to venture too far on my own?
Baby, you are not on your own.
You will always have me by your side.
Thankfully, I won’t have to juggle both rep soccer and club volleyball this year, since I plan to choose volleyball – assuming that I make the team next week. Once again, concern edges in as I worry that even the slightest change in my schedule will cause my weight to shift.