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I realize that this might sound highly asinine and incite such reactions as people sneering, "Poor you," in manner of Livia Soprano. But here goes. (Disclaimer: friends and sister: this is not directed at you! Okay, carry on.) I am tired of everyone telling me how good I look. Here's the thing. I didn't think I looked bad before. People ask me, I swear to God, at work, every day. People I run into in the elevator or in the halls. "You've lost so much weight! How did you do it?" I just shrug and blink and change the subject haltingly. I can actually feel my shoulders start to hunch over as soon as someone says this to me. It's like I want to disappear. I mean, what am I supposed to say? "I joined Weight Watchers in January to trim down before my wedding. I was approaching the maximum weight suggested for my height, and I wanted to be at my hottest and healthiest in my foxy gown. Then my fiancé called it off six weeks before the wedding. Then I couldn't eat for a long time. Woo!" I mean, it's not like slimming down was intentional. Not really. Not after everything happened. You don't need to log points when you can't even think clearly enough to remember your online password. It's all a blur, for the most part. I don't remember much. I just remember that I could not eat. I couldn't concentrate enough to decide what to eat, and if I finally did decide on something, which was like an insurmountable dilemma, I wouldn't have the energy to prepare it. Or if I actually prepared it, I would take one bite and not be able to swallow it. That is, if I could even chew it first. It just ceased to matter to me. My mom would bring me plates of food and I would stick them in the freezer untouched. I would take a bite of something and gag and spit it out and shuffle slowly to the couch, abandoning the food and totally exhausted by the effort. I ate saltines and Laughing Cow for dinner if I ate at all. I sometimes slowly made my way through a spoonful of peanut butter or half of a popsicle. I ate foods that made me feel like a small child. I could eat Lipton chicken noodle soup, sometimes. How can I explain that to people? How can I say that I forgot to eat, or that I tried and I couldn't? How can I explain that I started to enjoy it after a while, that pain caused by the hunger? How the emptiness in my stomach distracted me from the emptiness in my heart. How it gave me something to focus on, my thoughts, so I could still feel that my body was even there. How it was one acute physical feeling in those weeks, in the vacuum and the vagueness of the fog that was suffocating me. I think I clung to my hunger like a lifeline. How at least it was something that I could feel. And a feeling that was caused by me. I mean, clearly, if you knew me in real life, you would know I am not superthin by any stretch of the imagination, and clearly I started eating again long before I reached even the beginning of that path. I weigh 119 and wear a size 8 now instead of a size 10, for God's sake. I am by no means in any kind of good shape and I have precisely zero muscle tone. But by people's shocked and overwhelmingly affirmative reactions, you would honestly think that I was super svelte or had somehow been transformed into some kind of goddess-like waif. And it makes me very, very uncomfortable. I am eating again. I started eating again months ago. Do I have the healthiest relationship possible with food? Of course not! Who does? But I have eaten all of my favorite foods. I clean my plate again. I have eaten pizza and Chinese food and ice cream and Mexican food. I have consumed plentiful amounts of alcohol. I eat cereal for breakfast and I eat lunch and I snack on string cheese and pretzels and applesauce and oranges and sometimes the Skittles in the purple bag because those are the best. I bake brownies and cookies. I eat dinner and dessert. I mean, I am always eating. And still, people look at me with furrowed brows or wide eyes, like they are seeing a new person in my skin. And I want to say, I am still wearing many of the same clothes, people. I don't even realize that I look any different. I want to say that I thought I was beautiful before. I want to say that I didn't try to lose weight. I mean, I did, with the Weight Watchers at first, but I haven't counted points in months. This hasn't been a deliberate process. Stop acting like I should be so proud of myself. "You go, girl!" I mean, really. "Girl, how did you get so thin? You look great! Tell me your secret!" Hmmmm. Well. "My life was shattered. Try it! I'm sure it will work for you!" I mean, what the fuck? I still feel somewhat sick during and following the act of eating. I just feel an overall sense of nausea and a "why bother?" I don't know what I am even saying, really. I just know that it really bothers me when people act like dropping some pounds is some kind of great accomplishment for me. Because it's not. Because I didn't do anything except fall apart. Because I looked fine before, and I was probably healthier then, too. And WHO SAYS SKINNIER IS BETTER? I mean, I know. Everyone does, or so it seems. But drives me insane. And I realize that everyone means well! And that they are trying to pay me a compliment in a society where thin=good. But it just always feels kind of twisted in my mind. Like I'm being complimented for sinking into a depressed void of hellish torment, but hey, at least I got thinner as a result! And it's all connected in my mind, and for that reason, I guess, it's not something for which I feel I should be congratulated. Today's episode of crazy has been brought to you by Effexor and Blue Bell, the Best Ice Cream in the Country.
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