173
People like the idea of numbers. We like that we can measure and determine if something is enough or not, if something has been accomplished or failed. When we simply say something is, "better," this isn't anything other than a cloud of unknown. We can use, "better" to justify based on our assumption, or we can use, "better" as a deterrent, as though if that's as good as it gets, then forget it.
As an adolescent, specifically here, my Sophomore and Junior year in high school, I suffered from what I would reflect on as an eating disorder, anorexia. Now, I know what you're thinking right here, and this isn't the lifetime version of a boy gone wrong. This started out so innocent, as a subtle way to lose weight. I was unable to see at the time that I had an unbalanced approach with how I dealt with things. Instead of having a natural shut off, I latched on to things and went after them until they were mine. Weight-loss became no different.
I started my habits of restricting until 6:30 PM in the summer prior to entering 7th grade. I wanted to be thin, attractive, two things I associated with each other. My habits with food have always been to eat what is around, constantly, never satisfied. My restriction until night time quickly advanced to questioning if I need to eat every day, then I would skip another, and at my worst going from a Sunday evening's binge, through Wednesday night. I was high on the pain and sacrifice and my little secret I kept. When I finally earned food that too felt great, except I would overeat and hate myself afterwards. I had willpower, but more than that, obsession. I couldn't shut it off despite the detriments of passing out, or peeing brown, or barely being able to focus on life. As soon as I would get a complement, it fueled every inadequate amount of me and I had to keep going.
My sophomore year, at my request, I received a digital scale for Christmas. Up until this point, my obsessions were enough to drive my behavior, but now I had a number to rely on. I could sacrifice all day and see where my number was. I just wanted a number to stay consistent, or keep decreasing, for me to know I was living life right. This number on the scale became literally everything and was the peak of my value's mountain, everything fell short to this necessary thing.
One hundred seventy-three pounds to many people sounds like a healthy amount of weight. However, for me, when I started the weightless journey, I was approximately 215 and I was only in Junior high. I was over 6 foot and played sports. For me to get down to 173 took this level of restriction. For perspective, I am now a healthy weight of 245 with a peak in life of 300 pounds (more on that later). Besides lowering the food on the binges, which at the time just didn't seem possible, I determined 173 was as low as I could get. I did attempt to throw up after eating, but it never worked for me. I just couldn't do it, and scraped my throat really bad trying.
So, 173 is what I determined as my necessary mark to hit on a Friday evening to allow me to binge that night. I had to, above everything else, be 173. I would restrict water, restrict food, exercise more after sports practices, where at one point I had this routine of an hour sit-up session. This as I clearly recall laying in the basement after basketball practice working on this ab machine, feet under the couch, crunching away while the TV's images reminded me of what I wanted. I wanted to be the ripped guy I saw at spring break. I wanted to be the guy with muscle who girls wanted. I wanted to just not be fat on most days.
Even in the locker room, a comment I remember vividly as I was maintaining consciousness, my condition most of the time in those days, and a friend told me that I was a "big kid, (which I took to mean fat) pretending to be thin." Despite all my efforts I was still considered BIG? This hurt, for I wanted anything but. I wanted to be thin. I wanted to be liked. I wanted to like myself ultimately, but at this time, none of that mattered, for my obsession was a number, the only thing that would save me. The thing I couldn't turn off.
It was Memorial Day weekend 2002 after my junior year in high school where something happened. I had made weight and binged on Friday and determined that I wasn't going to eat again until Monday, for which I could eat something I discovered as, healthier. For I found out changing what I ate meant I could possibly lose more weight. This was my disease advancing inside my brain, now challenging me not to just eat less, but eat specific too. Worse yet, I was a lifeguard that summer, so my shirt was going to be off at least some of the time.
My mom was preparing an elaborate barbecue with these individual ribs I had never had before and not since, that brought me out of my coma and into the light of semi-regular eating. I couldn't stand the sights and smells as the grilled food looked so good. It hurt me to know I couldn't have it. I remember sitting at the computer in the basement beating myself up, that I was tempted. I was weak, so weak, and this hellish state of need drove me to insanity, which at this time meant going against all I had ever known about food and that was just to eat.
I ate, felt miserable, but afterwards couldn't restrict any more. Something clicked, and that summer I began going to the gym, not just for endless cardio, but to lift weights. It was from then, and the publications of Muscle and Fitness on a tour of a college campus that my life changed. I was pulled from the depth of constant hunger pains and dizzy spells into the obsession with body building, which as you can see here, caused it's own destruction.
Somebody said prayers for me because the road I was on was a deadly one, with under-nutrition killing someone more than overeating any day. Restricting has no end, there is always more activity, more, longer restriction, until the act of eating is a demon sitting on your shoulder scolding you for committing such a heinous crime against a now unlovable self. This is a glimpse into the life of my own eating disorder, each person's is different. This need, this desire, it consumes and to simply stop and change isn't how this works, no matter the consequences.
Stay informed, stay empathetic, and learn to turn that obsession into a gift.
God Bless.
As an adolescent, specifically here, my Sophomore and Junior year in high school, I suffered from what I would reflect on as an eating disorder, anorexia. Now, I know what you're thinking right here, and this isn't the lifetime version of a boy gone wrong. This started out so innocent, as a subtle way to lose weight. I was unable to see at the time that I had an unbalanced approach with how I dealt with things. Instead of having a natural shut off, I latched on to things and went after them until they were mine. Weight-loss became no different.
I started my habits of restricting until 6:30 PM in the summer prior to entering 7th grade. I wanted to be thin, attractive, two things I associated with each other. My habits with food have always been to eat what is around, constantly, never satisfied. My restriction until night time quickly advanced to questioning if I need to eat every day, then I would skip another, and at my worst going from a Sunday evening's binge, through Wednesday night. I was high on the pain and sacrifice and my little secret I kept. When I finally earned food that too felt great, except I would overeat and hate myself afterwards. I had willpower, but more than that, obsession. I couldn't shut it off despite the detriments of passing out, or peeing brown, or barely being able to focus on life. As soon as I would get a complement, it fueled every inadequate amount of me and I had to keep going.
My sophomore year, at my request, I received a digital scale for Christmas. Up until this point, my obsessions were enough to drive my behavior, but now I had a number to rely on. I could sacrifice all day and see where my number was. I just wanted a number to stay consistent, or keep decreasing, for me to know I was living life right. This number on the scale became literally everything and was the peak of my value's mountain, everything fell short to this necessary thing.
One hundred seventy-three pounds to many people sounds like a healthy amount of weight. However, for me, when I started the weightless journey, I was approximately 215 and I was only in Junior high. I was over 6 foot and played sports. For me to get down to 173 took this level of restriction. For perspective, I am now a healthy weight of 245 with a peak in life of 300 pounds (more on that later). Besides lowering the food on the binges, which at the time just didn't seem possible, I determined 173 was as low as I could get. I did attempt to throw up after eating, but it never worked for me. I just couldn't do it, and scraped my throat really bad trying.
So, 173 is what I determined as my necessary mark to hit on a Friday evening to allow me to binge that night. I had to, above everything else, be 173. I would restrict water, restrict food, exercise more after sports practices, where at one point I had this routine of an hour sit-up session. This as I clearly recall laying in the basement after basketball practice working on this ab machine, feet under the couch, crunching away while the TV's images reminded me of what I wanted. I wanted to be the ripped guy I saw at spring break. I wanted to be the guy with muscle who girls wanted. I wanted to just not be fat on most days.
Even in the locker room, a comment I remember vividly as I was maintaining consciousness, my condition most of the time in those days, and a friend told me that I was a "big kid, (which I took to mean fat) pretending to be thin." Despite all my efforts I was still considered BIG? This hurt, for I wanted anything but. I wanted to be thin. I wanted to be liked. I wanted to like myself ultimately, but at this time, none of that mattered, for my obsession was a number, the only thing that would save me. The thing I couldn't turn off.
 |
| This was not some noble journey to be healthy, this was an obsession I couldn't control. |
My mom was preparing an elaborate barbecue with these individual ribs I had never had before and not since, that brought me out of my coma and into the light of semi-regular eating. I couldn't stand the sights and smells as the grilled food looked so good. It hurt me to know I couldn't have it. I remember sitting at the computer in the basement beating myself up, that I was tempted. I was weak, so weak, and this hellish state of need drove me to insanity, which at this time meant going against all I had ever known about food and that was just to eat.
I ate, felt miserable, but afterwards couldn't restrict any more. Something clicked, and that summer I began going to the gym, not just for endless cardio, but to lift weights. It was from then, and the publications of Muscle and Fitness on a tour of a college campus that my life changed. I was pulled from the depth of constant hunger pains and dizzy spells into the obsession with body building, which as you can see here, caused it's own destruction.Somebody said prayers for me because the road I was on was a deadly one, with under-nutrition killing someone more than overeating any day. Restricting has no end, there is always more activity, more, longer restriction, until the act of eating is a demon sitting on your shoulder scolding you for committing such a heinous crime against a now unlovable self. This is a glimpse into the life of my own eating disorder, each person's is different. This need, this desire, it consumes and to simply stop and change isn't how this works, no matter the consequences.
Stay informed, stay empathetic, and learn to turn that obsession into a gift.
God Bless.
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