The following is from a journal entry dated June 19, 2005:
... the thought of gaining weight scares me. Food scares me - french fries, pastries, cakes, cookies. Sometimes I know this is irrational, but other times I can't even consider any other way - I can't eat that cookie; I can't have that slice of pizza, because it'll be the beginning. That one little donut hole will be the first thing, then something else, then something else, and all my good habits will go out the window and I'll be back at 145, flabby and unhappy.
I was trying to figure out where it started ... I guess a few things happened at once. I started feeling flabby, and then people started talking seriously about going to college - and how the "freshman 15" was a real possibility, how you'd gain more like 20 pounds. If I looked and felt that bad at 145, how would I feel at 160? 165? How would I look? How would I be able to afford new clothes? After that, I started looking around at other people, especially at work (note - I was working in a deli/bakery at the time). If I didn't change something, it was only a matter of time before I was one of the people in the scooters, so obese that I can't shower or wash my hair. It scared me shitless (note - I can't believe I once wrote that. I'm actually ashamed).
I weigh 110, 112 pounds. My shoulders are bony. My hips jut out. You can see my vertebrae and some of my ribs. I have cheekbones for the first time in my life, and my double chin is mostly gone. So are my tits and ass, incidentally. And I'm terrified, absolutely terrified, of gaining weight.
The irrational part of me thinks this is fantastic. I looked so good at prom, so good and graduation. It's good that I can cope with the hunger ... I'm sabotaging myself. When Mom was making me eat a serving of almonds a day, I'd figure out a place to throw them away. At work, I chew gum to keep from eating the stuff we have lying around. I eat fruit, veggies, low-c al breads, salads, oatmeal, grilled chicken, tuna. No rice, no potatoes, no pasta. No tacos, no chili, no pizza. No cakes, no cookies. No more cappucinos or frappucinos.
This is exhausting. I can't say I have an eating disorder - then we get into Lifetime-movie territory. There's something wrong, but I'm not certain that I want to fix it, because that would entail gaining weight -something I am too scared to do. And part of me keeps saying, you're fine. I look at TV, or at a magazine - how did I not notice how thin all these women are? Whenever Mom says my bony shoulders and collarbone are gross, I just look at the screen - collarbone, hipbones, knees. These women are thin - why can't I be? Why can't I just be left alone to do what I want?