The first time I lost any amount of weight, I was only in grade eight. Wow, it ryhmes. It was the year I moved from Italy to Canada. I wanted to start again, and make a new image for myself.
I thought that I didn't fit well enough into my size zero capris. So, I ate exactly 1000 calories a day, for about two months. Dropped down to 99 lbs. I was happy. That was the first year that I started making 'cool' friends. I was surprised that people liked me. I felt that I didn't belong. I didn't wear makeup, or style my hair nice or wear pretty clothing. I think to them I was more of a challenge. They would tell me how to dress, and cut my hair, and beg me to let them give me a make over.
But, through out all of that they told me that I was pretty and that they wish they could be as thin as me. And so, I eventually began to love myself, and stopped dieting.
For a while.
Grade nine passed, I made the social transfer from my old un-popular friends, to 'cooler' ones. I still remember the first time that I got the nerve to sit at their lunch table instead of mine. I remember feeling bad about ditching my old friends, but it had been some time before I could talk with them and not be embarrassed. It was like they had not grown up and still acted like 'kids'. They were all very nice people, but I wanted more.
Grade nine ended, and summer. I moved to California. This was when I was quote unquote 'discovered'. I was at the mall with one of my sisters, and a scout stopped me and asked if I wanted to be a model. He talked to my mom, and my mother (a former model) was rediculously encouraging about this. I wasn't tall enough, but he said to give it a shot anyway.
My mother became insane. I had always said that I wanted to be a doctor, and she had always told me how much work it would be. My dad was the one who encouraged me. Now, she tryed her best to make her daughter follow in her footsteps. She drove me to every call, made me go to acting auditions, payed for manicures and pedi cures and hair highlights and teeth whitening and everything that I didn't really care about.
But worst of all she told me to lose weight. That I was too fat.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
The Very Beggining
The first time that I remember being conscious of my body, I weighed 80 pounds. I don't remember how old I was, but remember only of an irrational fear of stepping on the scale and seeing a number over 90. I was young, probably in grade 3 or 4. On the skinnier side of average for my age.
Elementary school continued and I grew. As I got taller, the number grew as well. I passed 90, and feared 100. Finally, at 11 years old, with a BMI of only 17.2, I had decided I was too fat. This is the first time I remember hearing the grumbling of my own stomach and purposely ignoring it. I was in grade 6, and already one of the skinniest girls in my class. But, in my world, I was giant. I stepped on the scale and saw a three-digit number. 102. 103. 101. 100. Massive. Huge. I decided to take matters into my own hands, and diet.
For an 11 year old, dieting meant different things. After showering I would write what I was going to pack for lunch on the steamed-up mirror. One plain bun, one apple, 1/2 the amount of juice. My nanny would braid my hair, and cluck when I pulled on my tom-boyish jeans and t-shirt. I'd go into the kitchen and eat breakfast, the walk to school.
At school, I'd sit by my best friends, on the carpet and listen to the sound of my stomach growl. I was young, growing, and my stomach was used to getting the required amount of food. Instead, I was happy. I'd look around at all of the other 11 year olds and feel like I had a hidden secret, something that made me stronger, better, specialer.
Lunch would come around, and I would sit across from my two best friends. I'd take my plain bun and shove it into my pockets. I'd drink 1/2 of my juice box and throw it out. I'd 'forget' my apple in my backpack. There got to be a point that I would have up to 5 apples in my back pack at a time. Lunch was my diet time. I'd eat supper, breakfast, everything else, but I needed lunch to not eat.
During that time, one of my best friends had a sleepover for her birthday. We played truth or dare, and decided that everyone had to tell each other one secret. The birthday girl admitted she had a teeny weeny crush on this boy. The other girl said something of the same sort, but I don't remember what. It was my turn, and I was going to say the only secret I had to tell. I worked up the courage and said, 'I stuff my bread in my pockets'.
I don't know why, but I was certain that they would immediately get what I meant. Instead they laughed and said, 'That's not a secret! How is that bad?' They had zero clue that I had meant, and I was not brave enough to try again. So instead I made up that I had a crush on some boy. It was all good, and we went and painted our nails. This was the only time that I have ever made any kind of effort to tell a member of my life about my disordered eating.
I don't remember ever losing weight from that 'diet', just looking in the mirror and thinking that I didn't look as fat. I got back under 100lbs, and continued to tell my family when they asked that I was only 90. I stopped 'dieting' and went about my life as per normal. For a couple years at least.
Being pre-teen, pre-adolescent, 11,12,13; it's a weird stage in life. For me it was. I went from being the tom-boy, to wanting to be a girl and not knowing how. I went from being skinny skinny like my sisters, to growing and perceiving myself as different. I was super thrilled when my mother bought me my first bra, but pretended I didn't want to go. I watched shows like 'America's Next Top Model', and 'Zoey 101' in secret like I was doing something bad. I wanted to learn more about myself, I wanted to grow up, but was really still a child.
I guess I've gained enough perspective now, after my first year of high school, to say that. Because even though I'm still only 16, those years in between are where all of the learning takes place. And if you are wondering, this blog is about my life, but mostly about my eating disorder. I guess you could call it pro-Ana, but to me it's more then that. I thought I'd better start from the beginning.
Elementary school continued and I grew. As I got taller, the number grew as well. I passed 90, and feared 100. Finally, at 11 years old, with a BMI of only 17.2, I had decided I was too fat. This is the first time I remember hearing the grumbling of my own stomach and purposely ignoring it. I was in grade 6, and already one of the skinniest girls in my class. But, in my world, I was giant. I stepped on the scale and saw a three-digit number. 102. 103. 101. 100. Massive. Huge. I decided to take matters into my own hands, and diet.
For an 11 year old, dieting meant different things. After showering I would write what I was going to pack for lunch on the steamed-up mirror. One plain bun, one apple, 1/2 the amount of juice. My nanny would braid my hair, and cluck when I pulled on my tom-boyish jeans and t-shirt. I'd go into the kitchen and eat breakfast, the walk to school.
At school, I'd sit by my best friends, on the carpet and listen to the sound of my stomach growl. I was young, growing, and my stomach was used to getting the required amount of food. Instead, I was happy. I'd look around at all of the other 11 year olds and feel like I had a hidden secret, something that made me stronger, better, specialer.
Lunch would come around, and I would sit across from my two best friends. I'd take my plain bun and shove it into my pockets. I'd drink 1/2 of my juice box and throw it out. I'd 'forget' my apple in my backpack. There got to be a point that I would have up to 5 apples in my back pack at a time. Lunch was my diet time. I'd eat supper, breakfast, everything else, but I needed lunch to not eat.
During that time, one of my best friends had a sleepover for her birthday. We played truth or dare, and decided that everyone had to tell each other one secret. The birthday girl admitted she had a teeny weeny crush on this boy. The other girl said something of the same sort, but I don't remember what. It was my turn, and I was going to say the only secret I had to tell. I worked up the courage and said, 'I stuff my bread in my pockets'.
I don't know why, but I was certain that they would immediately get what I meant. Instead they laughed and said, 'That's not a secret! How is that bad?' They had zero clue that I had meant, and I was not brave enough to try again. So instead I made up that I had a crush on some boy. It was all good, and we went and painted our nails. This was the only time that I have ever made any kind of effort to tell a member of my life about my disordered eating.
I don't remember ever losing weight from that 'diet', just looking in the mirror and thinking that I didn't look as fat. I got back under 100lbs, and continued to tell my family when they asked that I was only 90. I stopped 'dieting' and went about my life as per normal. For a couple years at least.
Being pre-teen, pre-adolescent, 11,12,13; it's a weird stage in life. For me it was. I went from being the tom-boy, to wanting to be a girl and not knowing how. I went from being skinny skinny like my sisters, to growing and perceiving myself as different. I was super thrilled when my mother bought me my first bra, but pretended I didn't want to go. I watched shows like 'America's Next Top Model', and 'Zoey 101' in secret like I was doing something bad. I wanted to learn more about myself, I wanted to grow up, but was really still a child.
I guess I've gained enough perspective now, after my first year of high school, to say that. Because even though I'm still only 16, those years in between are where all of the learning takes place. And if you are wondering, this blog is about my life, but mostly about my eating disorder. I guess you could call it pro-Ana, but to me it's more then that. I thought I'd better start from the beginning.
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