The Subjugation of Mastication

I don't think that I ever expected it to happen to me. I mean, sure, maybe I'm that "type"-you know, the over-pressured, perfectionist, successful as yet teenager, but I've always had too much self-respect. People tell me I'm pretty, whether or not I believe what they say is irrelevant. I know there are people who love me, like my parents, and just have odd ways of showing such. I don't have too much trouble finding guys. I make good grades; I have talents. So how did it happen? How does it happen to anyone?

Before you assume that you know what I'm talking about.keep reading. I suppose it's a disease, but that's not how I classify it. For me, it is an ongoing test of my willpower; a cancer that keeps growing and festering inside of me, but there are no malignant cells in my body, nor are there any viral phages being attacked by my lymphocytes. No, there is another monster out there. A giant, immense caloric monster-food.

Strong-willed. Self-motivated. Intelligent. For years, these are the phrases that have defined me. Never has it been Psychologically Unhappy. No, it's supposed to be Optimistic. Now, 'Is the glass half empty or is it half full' becomes, 'Well, I'll tell you once you tell me how many calories
the liquid contains. I hate it, and there's nothing I can do anymore.

Somewhere I've lost control over what I eat; I'm not watching my weight, it's watching me. So far, I've been lucky. I can eat. But it is a battle.

I feel guilty if it's not a low-calorie, natural food. It watches me; it mocks me. "Ha! You're going to get fat now!"

Or maybe I haven't been so lucky. I get in really bad moods sometimes, when I feel like I'm losing control again. I lie about what I eat sometimes, or I throw it up. Just trying to ignore my self-consciousness is a never-ending fight. But it's not all of those little runway models that make me feel so guilty. I'm not saying the media isn't partially at fault, because it is. But I have no desire to be 5'10" and 100 pounds. I know that isn't healthy, and I'll never grow that much anyway. But I do want to look like the 5'2" movie stars that all the guys love-who have figures, and skinny arms and flat tummies. I used to have more sense-I tried just
dieting at first. But after a month of no sugar, no fat, and no results, I wanted to do something else. I only had the desire to fit into the clothes I once used to-but nothing seemed to work. I knew better than to stop eating-but I could no longer stand to look in the mirror and see the pudge or the love handles. Not eating made me feel better about myself.

Self-image means way too much to me. Why can't I be like the other people around me and not care? I know that others like me for who I am. But that's irrelevant if I can't accept myself. They say that only the person who has the disorder can help themself . and that they have to want help first. No one else can help them. I disagree. I want to help myself. I don't WANT to feel like this for the rest of my life. But I don't know what to do. I don't want pills. I don't want shots. There's no psychologist that can give me a ten-step program to quit seeing guilt in food or constantly looking in the mirror and not being able to see my real self. I can only look longingly at that hot, steamy plate of French fries and hope
that someday I will be able to eat them without hating or punishing myself for it. Until then, I may or may not eat. But I don't remember if we won or lost that basketball game.I remember that I ate that plate of fries and felt really sick, then couldn't eat for a day or two. I don't remember the fun I had at that birthday party.I remember the small piece of cake I had that I felt constant guilt over for the next two weeks.

I know that some people only think that I am crazy. They think it's all something I've made up in my head, overdramatized and done something stupid.

Believe me, I would have liked to stop it. But I didn't even know that it was happening. Some say, it's either the media or my peers' fault that I feel this way about myself; I used to have such high self-esteem. But I don't blame them, I can only blame myself for getting in to this mess. It is now up to me and me alone to get myself out of it. Others really can't help, they can't make me eat. They can offer support, but that's about all.

My battle is mine alone; I have never felt so isolated. I convince myself that no one REALLY cares. That's how I got into this mess in the first place. The eternal loneliness that I felt was because I didn't look the "right way" . the thoughts that so many of my friends are only materialistic . self-worthlessness is a terrible feeling. I'm trapped in this box, and I can't get out. Thoughts race through my head. I don't deserve nourishment; that would be too good for me. No, I'll continue to sit in my box and look at the food . hoping that the walls never close in on me, hoping that someday I'll just be normal again. The constant ups and downs of dieting, that cycle of meals that I can't break, the absolute condemnation of chocolate and complex carbohydrates, the negative effects of anorexia . maybe one day, they won't be in my life anymore. I'll eat whatever I want, but not too much of it. Maybe I'll be truly happy again.

--anbroy