It's Never Really Gone - Like Herpes

In college, one of my new best friends had been recently hospitalized for complications related to her anorexia.  Instantly I was jealous of her for having the will power to not eat.  (I know, it was insane). My dabble in anorexia was short-lived, and only took me to a slightly underweight level.  And then I discovered my love of food and vodka.

But this new friend, she was so GOOD at it.  I resented her for it.  I fancied myself "recovered" but that was a sham.  I think my constant focusing on what she ate actually helped her in the long run.  Your average Anorexic doesn't typically want others to notice her eating habits.  She wants you to think she eats like a bird naturally. She wants you to see that she didn't clear her plate, but she doesn't want you to observe her scraping up the last bits of blue cheese dressing and licking it clean.  I think the "I know what you're doing" eyes I gave her did help her after all. 

She's very strong and healthy now.   And we're still great friends.  I don't think she ever knew that I was jealous of her eating disorder though.  It probably wouldn't have helped her back then.

Sometimes now, I wish I had the "will power" to avoid food.  Instead, I usually have a snack.

Remember How I Finished Nursing School?

That was over a month ago.  Remember how I was supposed to spend all my free time studying for the NCLEX?  Remember how I was gonna ACE it?  Yeah, well, I'm looking at the test just a few weeks away... and I haven't even started preparing.  I'm an idiot.

Time to do some questions.  God!!

Dr. Cee's Theory On The Booze And The LBS

I don't know what an average college girl drinks, but my friends and I weren't messing around.  We blacked out, passed out, fell down, and one of us chipped her tooth on the floor of the bar.  We were in it to win it.  I easily consumed 1500 calories in a night out drinking.  Jack and Cokes and Jaager shots added  up.  Not to mention the 3am nacho fiesta we'd prepare when we got home.   But, here's the thing: after I awoken from my spinning fog, i'd spend the next 24 hours vomiting.   Alcohol bulimia - binge drinking and projectile purging.   It sounds crazy,  but I'm pretty sure that's why I didn't gain any weight in college.   This is not a diet I recommend for anyone's stomach, blood-brain barrier, optic blood vessels, throat or tooth enamel.   Or dignity. 

Dabbling In Anorexia

As I started growing taller,  I was still fat.  In eighth grade I made some new friends.  And I decided I wanted to date boys.   Remembering the fond words of a family member "you're getting FAT" on Christmas Eve, I knew the time to hesitate was through.  Clearly, the only thing I could do was stop eating.  So, for about a year I ate bagels.  Well, one bagel.  One cinnamon raisin bagel per day, to be specific.  I started eating it when I began to feel dizzy in the morning at school… and nibbled on it, pulling the skin layer off first, then the insides.  That would last me throughout the school day. If I was hungry, I'd swallow the piece of gum I'd been chewing all day.  That gave my stomach something to work at as it tried desperately to pull nutrients from my ten calorie stick.  I'd come home and have a lovely nutritious iceberg lettuce and tomato salad with fat free Hidden Valley Italian dressing.  I dropped 40 lbs that year.   My doctor applauded my hard work.  Dumb ass couldn't spot an eating disorder staring him in the eyes.





Word to the wise... when a 14 year old girl drops 40lbs in a year, ask her more than "are you eating?"

But, screw it, I landed a boyfriend!  And I bought a bikini.  Va-va-voom.  The Goodyear Blimp was now dating boys, breaking up with them and picking up new ones, turning down guys she'd been in love with in middle school…. all that in a lime green mini skirt - size 5, bitches! 

Then I discovered alcohol. Surely binge drinking didn't have anything to do with the weight gain - actually I have a theory on that. 

Movin' and Shakin' and Jigglin'

That same summer when Lauren sent my fat ass running home, thighs rubbing together, my family moved.  Ahh a new start.  And stress.  And gaining weight.   When I started fourth grade, I thought I was hot stuff.  (I even wore a fire engine red skirt and matching striped shirt to school on the first day.  The look was completed with slouch socks and Keds.  Not to mention the fact that I slept with curlers in my bangs for the perfect poof.  Hot.)  Until this giant boy started referring to me as the Goodyear Blimp.  I didn't even know what that was, but I knew "blimp" was not a flattering term.  He said it a lot.  I hated it. But, then I got boobs later that year, and started wearing a training bra, so his opinion didn't matter so much anymore. But, I was definitely still fat. 

During that time my brother was way too skinny.  He's three years younger than me and was a string bean.   So, my dad would make him egg nog every night.  With whole raw eggs, milk, ice cream, peanut butter, bananas and chocolate syrup all blended up.  And you bet your ass Fatty Cee always gulped down a glass.  You'd think maybe Pops might have thought to encourage the fat kid to abstain.

Over the next two years, I got eight teeth pulled, leaving my four front top and bottom teeth in a partially-toothed smile.  Sexy.  Oh, and poofy bangs.  One year, for Christmas, I asked for jeans from one of my favorite shops in the mall.  I wanted green jeans, and purple jeans and red jeans and yellow jeans, and of course white jeans.  It was 1993.  I told my mom over and over again that I was a size 5.  I don't where the idea that I was a size 5 came from, but I was sure of it.  I'd probably heard Brenda Walsh ask for a size 5 or something.  I'd never tried on a pair of jeans before that. 

I was sorely disappointed come Christmas morning when not one of the rad new jeans zipped up.   I cried.

A few days later, my mom took me to the mall to exchange my jeans.  The 7's didn't fit, nor the 9's.  And I remember telling my mother that I would NOT be wearing any size larger than that.  This was just the first in a long history of fitting-room-provoked-tantrums.  I left the mall without anything but a receipt for returned items.

And I began wearing my mom's hand-me-down acid washed stretch jeans.  Cesca fondly reminds me that they had no pockets, and had lace up the side.  I really was sexy. 

one of the many reasons I will never raise children in manhattan

I’m sitting at a nail salon on the Upper East Side in NYC ($50 mani/pedi btw.  Ridiculous).  There’s a mom in her forties sitting next to at the pedi station.  She’s yelling across the room to her six year old daughter who is receiving a massage.  Because six year olds are stressed, you know.  The mother tells me to look over, saying that, at six, she had never even heard of a massage.  I laugh - you know, because she sees who ridiculous this is as well, or so I thought.  I said something about how my mom wouldn’t have allowed nail polish in the house (mess!)  Mom goes, “ahhhhh, but it’s all part of the New York City lifestyle.”

After I vomited, she tells me about the woes of having to bring her daughter with her for her weekly mani/pedi/massage appointment.  Gross.  Later, she’s yelling “precious baby, don’t smudge your nails!  Oh goodness!”  Remember, she’s six.  Later she’s advising the child to start a weekly blog (six) about the different nail polish colors she’s tried.

It’s all very magical until I’m interrupted by “YOU PAY NOW” and I scrounge around in my purse with wet hands for an outrageous sum of money.  Have I mentioned that I hate the city.  Not that the interpersonal skills at nail salons are any better in the burbs.

Anyway.  As I’m leaving, I hear the mom telling the manicurist that her daughter’s prink finger is smudged and it should be fixed.  Immediately.  She has alot of errands to run, after all.  Because it’s important that your nails are pristine when you’re playing in the sandbox.

Fat Kid

Backing up a bit. I remember having weight issues as young as 8 or 9. I lived on the kind of block where all the kids ran wild until our respective mom's screamed "DINNNNNNNNER!!" and we disbursed.

Dinner usually consisted of some meat, breaded, and cooked in oil with a heaping side dish of cheese or butter drenched veggies. Nutrition wasn't a focus in my fam.

There was always a mixed bag of children of various ages around. I was in the second tier. There were a few of us around the same age in that 8-10 range. Then some younger kids and some older almost-junior-high-age kids.

I remember one girl, Lauren. She was heavy. So was her twin brother. And they were probably three or four years older than me. That instantly made them the coolest people in the world. Looking back, they were obnoxious. But in our kingdom, they reigned.

We played this game. I don't know why. Basically it was "See Who Can Push Someone The Furthest." As the pushee, you'd stand with your back to the pusher. They'd then see how far they could lunge you ahead. I still have a scar on my left elbow from when Lauren sent me flying to the blacktop. I remember her asking me "How much do you weigh? That was hard!" I answered with "65 pounds." That was untrue. I don't recall my actual weight, but it was probably closer to 90. She scoffed and called me a liar. I ran home and have no memory of seeing her again.

And so it began... I was aware. I was a fat kid and I knew it.