Call for submissions: The stories of our bodies

1st December 2007

Call for submissions: The stories of our bodies

posted in Body Image, Eating Disorders |

A couple years ago I took an honors seminar on the culture of eating disorders. As to be expected, the class was comprised entirely of women; some were openly eating disordered, and many of the rest, I suspect, were secretly disordered or, at the very least, possessed disordered thinking about food.

Our first assignment was to write the story of our body. I found this assignment, with its maximum length of two pages, to be more difficult than my 25-page undergraduate senior thesis. I’ve updated minor parts of the saga below – the boyfriend has now become the husband – but the story has changed little.

My challenge is for you to write your own story of your body. Where would you begin? Where would you end? Is yours a work-in-progress? Is your saga a tragedy or a comedy? Does it have a happy ending or an ambiguous legacy?

I’d like to make an online archive of these stories; if you’d like to be included, please email me your stories, or, if it’s brief (a couple paragraphs or less) post it in the comments below. Please also include your name or screen name, website if applicable, and a valid email address. I’ve posted my story below, after the jump.

The Story of my Body

To sum up the “story of my body” in a scant two pages is a formidable task. For the story of my body – the story of anyone’s body, really – is a story a thousand pages long. It’s a story two thousand pages long when you consider all the footnotes, endnotes, citations, appendices, and annotations that it would automatically entail.

As a child, I assuaged feelings of rejection and isolation in tangible forms, seeking to fill an abiding emptiness within through food. At the start of my sophomore year, my fifteenth, I began shopping in the plus-size department. I weighed more than 170 pounds. Eight years later, I stood on a doctor’s scale, humiliated as the weights clacked into place: 300 pounds. The ensuring effort that would, in the next year, pare off 175 of those pounds – more than one half of my body – was Herculean, dangerous, and life-altering.

The struggle between our bodies and minds is difficult to overcome; it is nearly impossible to say where the body ends and the self begins. My body stands as testament to the internal self, its insecurities, fears, hungers, and desires carved in a sculpture of flesh and bone. I cannot recall a time when I have ever truly been at peace with my body. The internal harangue – You’re fat, you’re disgusting, lazy, slovenly pig – exists independently of consciousness; it lodges itself into my psyche on a visceral level until it’s become a part of the air I breathe, part of the very earth beneath my feet.

I suppose I suffered under the same delusion other women hold to be canonical: the gospel of femininity which preaches that if only I lost weight, the rest would follow. If I could shoehorn my life into a size 6, then I’d finally find the pot of gold at the end of that thin, thin rainbow. Our delusions contain within them an ability that allow us to live but they can also kill us. For it becomes necessary not only to lie, but to believe in the lie.

I did not set out to become anorexic or bulimic or as I’ve been diagnosed, eating disorder not otherwise specified. I simply began dieting. The power of restraint soon grew to hold a seductive effect, deprivation felt good, purifying even. I began flirting with fasting, subsisting on chewing gum, water, and diet pills. Starving, in its own perverse way, empowered me. Unlike so many other women, not only could I control my appetite, I could transcend it. At a time when I felt deeply depressed, confused, and unsure of myself, starving gave me a goal, a way to stand out and exert control. Finally, something I could excel at.

And I was very, very good at it. I ate less and less and grew thinner. Compliments flowed copiously from women who sighed and admired my almighty willpower. I stopped menstruating. I began shopping in the junior’s department. I developed lanugo on my back and belly. Nightly, I examined my changing body in a full length mirror, each piece fragmented and judged and compared, each flaw known and perceived as grotesquely magnified, each part greater than the sum. I reveled in the metamorphosis of my body – flexing my fingers so that the now visible bones and veins in my hands rippled; noting how my thighs no longer touched. I remember fidgeting uncomfortably while driving, ultimately finding the source of my discomfort to be shoulder blades protruding like wings. Eating disorders fester in isolation; they thrive in secrecy. Friends and family fell by the wayside as I lived in my head, and only my head.

I found a strange solace in starvation and yet, at the same time, used it as self-imposed castigation. In time, fasting becomes more than a game of endurance; it becomes absolutely necessary to survive. My fasts grew longer and more intense: four days here, eight there, and then my longest: 12 days. Once I broke a fast and gave in to a dinner of raw cabbage and zero-calorie spray butter. To punish myself, the next day I went without food and water. During my nightly run in the balmy August heat, I nearly collapsed. Eyes hollow with dark circles, I downed ephedrine with coffee. I was perpetually cold.

In time, starvation gives way to binging. After being in “control” for so long, the frenzied loss of power petrified me. I remedied this with syrup of ipecac, a sickeningly sweet emetic the consistency of molasses – this is what caused the heart complications that singer Karen Carpenter died of. I ripped my esophagus in a feverish effort to vomit lettuce. In my convoluted mind, no measure was too extreme. Surrender to hunger would lead to mayhem and I knew I was winning the war: body versus mind, flesh versus the purest will.

In hindsight, I suppose I could not express the loneliness or depression I felt, but I could wear it. When words failed, I fell back on my body, allowing its behaviours and compulsions and urges to say what I really felt and needed, letting it explain the inexplicable. In flesh, I described a pain I could not communicate in words.

Life changes, although glacial, gradually eroded the disorder. A year’s bout with severe depression led to weight gain. Over time, the old system of starvation and purging simply fell apart, became too stultifying and oppressive to maintain. I recall the ironic mixture of dismay and elation of watching this happen, knowing I no longer had the will or energy to starve or to self-destruct but not really knowing how to live differently, how to deal with issues in my life or make choices, how to define and respond to hunger.

Relinquishing those established rules of eating, discarding time-honored rituals of starving and binging followed by frenzied exercise gave way to a quiet, persistent sorrow, an emptiness I can neither identify nor can I fill with my work, by burying myself in academics, through volunteering, or even through the love of my husband. It is a sadness that has no name and I grieve for it still.

Today I eat. That in itself is a statement of triumph. Today, I strive to inhabit my body instead of fighting it. I counter the urges to stick my head in a toilet and purge until my throat feels sore and raw with that of vanity for my teeth. Weakened and eroded by years of vomiting, I’ve had to have two polished and one bonded. I keep in mind my heart with its leaky valve, damaged by malnutrition, ephedra, and emetic use. I tell myself that I am weighing my body on the scale, not my self-worth. Some days, I even believe it.

And so, this story of my body brings me to where my writing leaves off – with a pain of remembrance, longing, and hope.

Click to Bookmark

This entry was posted on Saturday, December 1st, 2007 at 2:49 am and is filed under Body Image, Eating Disorders. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

1 On December 1st, 2007, Rachael Stern AKA TwistedBarbie said:

Wow,
We have a lot in common. I will have to get to writing my story, but suffice to say my highest weight was morbidly obese… and I ended up in a simalir state to what you describe.

posted on December 1st, 2007 at 2:56 am

2 On December 1st, 2007, Rachael Stern AKA TwistedBarbie said:

No Worries! I am wrapping up the end of a semester also and I am actively distracting myself with your blog
At what school did you take the class you mention in the above post?
What are you currently getting your degree in?

posted on December 1st, 2007 at 3:01 am

3 On December 1st, 2007, Rachel said:

Sorry Rachael, I deleted and reposted my comment on the original thread. So, Rachael really isn’t talking to herself, everyone, really!

I received my undergraduate degree in history from the University of Cincinnati, where I’m also pursuing my graduate degree in history. The eating disorders class was an honors English class – I already had more than the required honors credits needed to graduate with upper honors, but how could I pass this class by? The professor had a special interest in eating disorders, and was allowed to form the scope of the honors seminar, so she chose EDs.

posted on December 1st, 2007 at 3:04 am

4 On December 1st, 2007, Hilary said:

Thanks for sharing the story of your body here. I will take up this little homework assignment, and though I doubt I’ll be anywhere near as eloquent as you, I will strive for the same kind of honesty.

posted on December 1st, 2007 at 12:32 pm

5 On December 1st, 2007, Jen said:

Wow–that was an amazing post and so beautifully written. I could have written it, just not so well. I struggled with bulimia for years and though it’s been more than a decade since the last time I purged, the urge still surfaces from time to time. One day I hope to get around to writing the story of my body–I think it would be theraputic. Thanks for posting this.

posted on December 1st, 2007 at 8:46 pm

6 On December 1st, 2007, Charlynn said:

Oohboy. This is a challenge I think I have to accept. I may take my time putting it together, but I will do it.

posted on December 1st, 2007 at 11:11 pm

7 On December 2nd, 2007, chaoticheartt said:

Thank you for giving me the impetus to write my own body story. I have posted it on my new wordpress blog, fatchat.

posted on December 2nd, 2007 at 5:30 am

8 On December 3rd, 2007, brandann said:

i may just have to rise to the occasion here…very well written post. thanks for that!

posted on December 3rd, 2007 at 1:10 am

9 On December 3rd, 2007, Katie said:

What a wonderful idea. I’m a writer by my heart’s calling and this really appeals to me. I somehow managed to bypass eating disorders, but had a few months as a teenager that could have so easily led to one. My sister, on the other hand (who was always drastically smaller than me anyway) was bulemic for some time without anyone noticing.

I’m going to work on this assignment when I get a few minutes that my kids or current pregnancy aren’t demanding from me.

Thanks for your story. It’s eye opening.

posted on December 3rd, 2007 at 4:30 am

10 On December 3rd, 2007, mei said:

hey this is quite an inspiring post! i have started writing the story of my body in my blog. i had an early eating disorder – refused food as a child and only discovered the joy of eating when i left home at 14 – still it was a gradual process. i mean i didn’t discover the warm comfort of eating overnight. but eating did become too comforting in my late 20s until my ex-husband’s midlife crisis – when i began naturally to reject food, or simply forget to eat. this didn’t go on for too long thankfully and now i’m back to a healthy size 12.

posted on December 3rd, 2007 at 12:04 pm

11 On December 3rd, 2007, kat said:

Your body story made me cry. I totally understand what you are talking about. I’ve been at war with my body since fifth grade. I’ve been anorexic, exercise bulimic(could never bring myself to throw up)& now weigh over 250 pounds. So many of us are on this walk of self acceptance…learning to love our unruly bodies. You are not alone. (((hug)))

posted on December 3rd, 2007 at 10:37 pm

12 On December 8th, 2007, sso said:

That was very moving, and gives me a shred of hope for the future. I’ve battled anorexia for over a decade, from a weight of 140 at the outset, down to a low of 60. A good part of me thinks actual recovery is just a myth, but there has to be something better for me out there. I’ve been this way for so long, I can actually justify to myself that my present weight in the mid 90s is “really okay, all things considered.” Deep down I know it’s not, not at all, but even after years of inpatient and outpatient treatment…I just don’t know how to move on.

posted on December 8th, 2007 at 5:12 pm

13 On May 2nd, 2008, Allison said:

Your story inspires me to write my own. I am currently battling with anorexia and exercise bulimia. I am trying to change my ways and look to God and friends for support. I went to a counselor loast semester, but haven’t gone this semester, and I think I need to go back. I only weigh 120, but I feel “fat” because I have gained 5 pounds this semester and I keep thinking that when I weigh 115 I will be happy. I do not treat my body right and I know this, but I find it so hard to change my ways of thinking. But I thank you for your story.

posted on May 2nd, 2008 at 9:05 am

14 On November 5th, 2008, Stars in the Gutter » Blog Archive » the story of my body said:

[...] at The F-Word issued the following optional assignment to readers of her blog: My challenge is for you to write your own story of your body. Where would [...]

posted on November 5th, 2008 at 5:30 pm

15 On March 20th, 2009, The World Split Open » The-F-Word.org said:

[...] project is similar to one I started in December of 2007 but never had the time to fully develop: The Story of My Body project. I received multiple submissions from readers and saved all of them. They’ll be included in [...]

posted on March 20th, 2009 at 9:55 am

16 On March 20th, 2009, Rhondaroo said:

You know, I feel kind of guilty after reading about the terrible difficulties others have had. In the past, I have gone through periods of eating between nothing and 500 calories in order to finally be thin. I now weight somewhere around 170 pounds, and I’m 5′1″. In the past, (I’m a forty-two year old undergraduate at U of Oregon), I’ve been able to force myself to undereat or fast, and I was able, at least a couple of times, to get down to 100 pounds, and the coveted size 6. (I wear an 18 short now) When I was thin, and I went to the doctor, all the nurses seemed impressed with my 100 or 103 pounds. I didn’t tell them that my ass was so flat that it hurt to sit, and every time I would get up, my tailbone would sickeningly pop back into place. I would get chest pains from what I think was stomach acid. My heart would start beating fast like it wanted to take off without me. But I was thin. Men actually looked at me and talked to me. I could never stay with it though. I eventually got hungry and obsessed with food and weight at the same time. I now exercise for between 30 and 90 minutes a day. However, my female doctor still had to remind me that I’m overweight, even though I do not have high blood pressure or high cholesterol. My husband has been so supportive, buying The Obesity Myth, (Paul Campos), Big Fat Lies, (Glenn A. Gaesser, Ph.D), and Losing It, (Laura Fraser) for me to try to help me feel better about my body, which, as I stated above, is a long way from fashionably thin. I feel lucky that I never went as far as being light enough to be considered anorexic, and I was lucky enough never to give in to the thin monster enough to develop bulimic symtoms. I also now hate the diet industry, and anyone who tells me I’m a messed up person because I weigh more than the weight police say I should. I understand if you don’t post my blah blah about myself cause its so long, but thanks for the opportunity to vent, and down with the evil weight-loss industry- diet-weight police.

posted on March 20th, 2009 at 12:42 pm