My experience.part 4

IV. The summer before college

After I graduated high school, I was the thinnest I had ever been. Mid-summer I had to make a difficult choice that led to even more weight loss. My father was out of town, and my sister, a competitive dancer, had a week-long competition in Orlando. Everyone was afraid to leave me home alone, so I had to make the decision to either stay with my uncle in Minnesota or go with my mom and sister to Orlando. I decided to go to Orlando, because at the time my mother was the only one from which I did not have to laboriously hide my suffering. But away from my food rituals, there was little for me to eat. I had brought what I could from home, but my rations were quickly depleted. At one point my mother got so scared and desperate that she told the hotel staff that I was very sick with anorexia and begged to have a microwave placed in the room. This way I could at least eat a little. I remember sitting in the corner of the room where all of the little dancers at the convention were congregated, watching my mom march up to the front desk, and feeling low enough to die.

Even though we were at Disney World, I didn’t feel the least inclined to go out of the hotel. I was so weak that the crowds and hot Florida sun only drained me further. I did go out with my mother and sister twice, but the events are a blur. I began to have trouble walking because my muscles were so tight and dehydrated; yet I still ran every morning at the hotel gym. I remember the excruciating pain of dragging myself there, feeling every muscle in my legs strain and throb from malnourished abuse and knowing that it was only going to get worse. It was also at this time that sitting down became painful. Every possible angle seemed to dig into my tailbone, which had become disturbingly prominent. I could no longer take baths without bruises. Still, my resolution was the strongest thing in me. It was a cycle of energy in, energy expended—but always more expended.

When we got back from Orlando, my mother was beside herself with concern. She took me to the doctor and discovered that I had lost several pounds that week. I was angry when I found that I had not lost as much weight as I thought. I had spend the last week eating even less, running even more, and feeling more physical pain than I ever had. I thought I deserved more. I wanted my weight to reflect just how broken I was, and I knew that I had reached a new, horrendous level of self-inflicted rules. At so many points in my struggle with anorexia, my obsession with weight was a result of wanting my body to match the wretchedness of my heart and mind. It was only very early in the course of the disease that I ever thought I looked good.

College was just around the corner, and even though my parents were apprehensive, I think they were both hoping it would make things better. I was never one to do well with idle time, being overly ruminative and self-critical; so I think they thought being busier might help dull the feverish workings of my mind. Truth be told, I had an ominous feeling that college might make me worse. I feared that the pressure and anxiety of choosing a career path would make me cling to my disordered safety-net even more.