I recently read Portia di Rossi's book Unbearable Lightness, about her struggle with an intense eating disorder. This has given me to courage to finally open up about mine. Something that I have hidden for years.
Last week I didn't look forward to ballet class. I was indifferent. I always try to get there early so that I have enough time to change and throw my hair up without feeling rushed. I hate feeling rushed. I arrived right when half of the class before me had been let go of. About 5 small framed 20ish year old girls rushed into the small, cramped space that is the Opera Atelier girls 'change room', unapologetically. I was soon forced out into the hallway, where I attempted as best as I could, to put on my tights and body suit under the skirt that I had worn to work. As I stood there, in the doorway to the change room, struggling in this attempt, I couldn't help but notice one of the perfect ballerinas from the advanced class openly staring at me. Obviously in disgust. I know I don't look like a ballet dancer. I'm an opera singer and with my voice type, I will always have a bit of meat on me. As I glanced in her direction, she openly challenged me. She kept staring. She never looked away. But her face said it all. "What do you think you are doing here?" Putting on tights and spandex is never something that I enjoy. But after taking ballet there for over a year, I was beginning to feel comfortable with my peers. But this one girl... and her look... they destroyed me. And I felt like a fat loser.
It's funny. Lately I have had a lot of people telling me that I look great. I ran into a friend last night that I hadn't seen in about eight months, someone who would never lie to me. One of the first things out of her mouth was how great I looked. I unbelievingly thanked her. How can I look great? Have you seen this giant keg of fat that sits in front of me at all times? I am a disgusting monster. How in the world can you say that I look great?
I have struggled with the thought that I am fat for my entire life. It started with the bullying at school. One girl decided to make my life a living hell, and she singlehandedly lead me down a path to destructive behavior, depression and suicidal thoughts. I came out of high school thinking that I was fat, worthless and that I would never be loved. And I know that you cannot live in the past forever... but it is difficult to change the emotional habits of a lifetime. When you grow up hearing these comments, it is all but impossible to forget them.
In college, it was no better. I was soon diagnosed with a muscle disorder called firbomyalgia. With the fibro, I learned that I was dangerously allergic to wheat and a few other things. I was diagnosed with insomnia, depression, chronic fatigue, IBS. There were certain foods that I was intolerable to, which simply means that if I eat them, my stomach goes into a rage and I end up in the bathroom in incredible amounts of pain for who knows how long. It is not pleasant. But I knew that I was fat. I knew that I would only find worth if I was thin. This is what the media tells us. This is what my peers showed me. So I would eat the foods that would cause my IBS to act up. I would binge, but not wanting to purge because I am a singer and throwing up is damaging to the vocal folds, I would consume the 'in between' foods that I couldn't really tolerate and end up in the bathroom in extreme amounts of pain. Simply trying to induce my own personal laxatives to get the disgusting mess that I had just consumed out of my body.
I suddenly, through no choice of my own, was restricted on what I was allowed to eat. I couldn't eat wheat. I had lived on pasta, bread and pizza. What do I eat now? I starved. I 'forgot' to eat. Or I would wind up in a narrow tunnel where I would eat the same thing for a week, get sick of it and forget that there were other foods out there. I would starve myself. Forget. And the binge. And induce the IBS.
When I moved to Toronto, I found health food stores with sweet treats that I could eat that were gluten free. Because I felt like I had deprived myself for so long, I would buy them almost daily, telling myself that it was ok to have one chocolate a day. Then cursing myself when I would eat the entire container of cookies... but then tell myself that it was ok... I deserved it for some reason... because it was gluten free, and poor me, I'm not allowed to eat gluten. What a hard life I lived.
It was also easy to starve when I first moved to Toronto because I felt very unwelcome by my new roommate. She scared me. I was nervous to be around her. Nervous that I had done something wrong and she would suddenly fly off the handle in a fit of rage at me, which happened often, even though I tried the best that I could to be as courteous as possible. It seemed that I had always done something wrong. As she always sat at the kitchen table, doing homework or flirting with men via online dating sites, I was afraid to go into the kitchen. For just about 2 and a half years I walked on egg shells. And I starved. And I binged. Living in that stressful environment, eating the way that I was, I obviously gained more weight. I was now over 200 pounds. And I was disgusted. I didn't love myself. I never had really.
I felt the pressure of my goal choice as an opera singer. I knew deep down that a famous soprano had been fired for not being able to fit into a dress. I knew that the pressures to look more like movie stars was starting to happen, due to the live in HD operas now being showen in the movie theaters. I felt the pressure. And I buckled under its weight.
Not only this, but I felt pressure from my family. I love my Mom more than anything. But I have always felt pressure from her to be thinner than I am. I remember coming home from Toronto to visit, and she put her arms around me and quite literally, as we hugged, felt my stomach. I recoiled in horror. Really? REALLY!? I remember crying, at the age of 24 or 25 in Melanie Lynn, as we shopped. I had commented on how, due to ballet, my legs were getting more toned. And she patted my protruding belly and said 'now you just have to get rid of this'. And I cried. And I didn't talk to her for the rest of the day. I know she doesn't mean any harm by it. She is small by nature. Even my Dad, the last time I talked to him, said 'how's the weight loss going?'. I wanted to throw down the phone and scream. I love my Dad. But we have not had the easiest past. And as he is grossly overweight and not doing a thing about it, I wanted to scream at him and tell him where to go and how to get there. I suppressed that and made some witty comment. But I felt like a failure. Because it is not going well. I am binging. I am starving. And it is not well.
A big part of my problem lately has been my muscle disorder. I am in constant pain. And let me tell you, when you are in constant pain and constantly exhausted, the hardest thing in the world is to work out. I have recently moved, and since moving, I have been eating better. But now that I am eating better, I still have no energy and am in constant pain, so working out hasn't been happening as much. I feel like I am gaining weight again. And though I am now under the 200 pound mark, I hover around it like a terrible beacon. And I hate it.
I look in the mirror and I hate myself. I hate myself for the way that I look. For the layer of fat that comes up over my jeans. For the way that people look at me. I saw a very fit regular at work the other day checking out my flabby arms with disgust. Again, that is engrained in my mind. Never to leave.
Part of my mental struggle is that I have now found pills that will help me ingest wheat. But in my family, we refer to this as 'cheating'. This word choice has mentally defeated and deflated me. Anytime I want to eat something using these pills, I feel like I am failing. Like I am doing something terrible. Like I am a giant, fat, failure for choosing to eat something that my body obviously is going to reject. I grew up hearing and learning that failure wasn't an option. I feel like a failure every day that I get up and look in the mirror and know that I have disappointed my family by being fat. This is difficult to live with.
I also feel like a failure because I know that a lot of people look up to me. They think that I am this perfect little Christian girl who can do no wrong. I struggle on a daily basis to believe that God could love this ugly blob. And I hardly ever get to the point where I truly believe it. How can I allow someone else to love me when I don't even love myself?
So I struggle. I have been better since moving. It has been good for me. But I still struggle. Mentally. I struggle. I long for love, but who would love this? I long to feel like I fit in, but I never do.
Reading Portia's book has been helpful to me, but there is a danger for someone with an eating disorder to read a book about eating disorders. I found myself thinking 'that's a good idea!' when she was talking about her destructive behavior.
And so I open up to you. And I ask for help. For prayers. For guidance. I open up so that I cannot hide in this any longer. I open up so that maybe I won't feel like a failure, but will be able to feel accepted. I open up so that maybe my struggle can help you to open up.
Blessings,
Deena
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