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The joys of anorexia | page 1, 2
During this little foray into starvation land, I lived mainly on apple
juice and cigarettes. I'd mellowed in my choice of beverages, but the
cigarettes were still an integral part of the diet because they were so
successful at killing my appetite. This time I also started an exercise
program, which helped put me down two dress sizes. In addition to that, I
started what I thought was bulimia, but is known as "normal weight
vomiting." (It's only called bulimia if it includes bingeing followed by throwing up.) I simply ate a normal dinner and then threw it up. The only problem with this was that while it was something I initially did on my own, it eventually turned into something my body was doing whether or not I liked it. It got to the point where I would simply eat dinner and then about 15 minutes later, I would feel ill and throw up. I went from 134 pounds to 117. Physically, I felt great. But it had its downside. One night I was asked over to an attractive man's house
for dinner. He served lobster and a beautiful creamy dessert washed down
with lots of wine. It was obvious he had plans for me after dinner, but by
then I was throwing up so regularly that my body automatically went into
action. I started to feel nauseated and I knew I had to get out of there.
Fast. I arrived home just in time. By now I was calling my little throwing up habit the "taste it twice
diet." My friends did not think it was funny. One pal who joined me on a
business trip and saw my after-dinner regurgitations was very upset. "You'll ruin your teeth and you could choke, you know." I curtailed my vomiting for the rest of the trip. While my friends found it both disturbing and puzzling, I actually was
happy with my successful dieting tools. They were effective and the euphoria I experienced while starving was addictive. But it all came to an end abruptly when I met my husband. It wasn't that he made me so happy that I quit. It was just that when I told him what I was doing, he became very upset and pleaded with me to stop. I did, but I was under constant
surveillance. For years, if I ever got stomach flu or ate something that made
me sick, he was right in there as I was throwing up, lecturing me about
eating disorders. When he moved out a couple of years ago, I wondered if I would go on my favorite diet again. I didn't. In fact, it wasn't until this
spring, when I started dating a man 10 years my junior, that the starvation
diet started up. Initially I was just trying to lose weight fast. The
relationship was progressing at a greater speed than I had anticipated. So I
was down to eating practically nothing and swimming a half mile every day. All of a sudden, that wonderful euphoric feeling was back again. I felt
terrific. I looked terrific. For three months I ate just enough to keep
from fainting. Then I ended the relationship because it was becoming just a
bit too much. I started eating again, but with restraint. And that's
where I am now. But I'll starve myself again, for the sense of power over my body. It's
almost an erotic feeling. I must admit that this summer,
as I starved myself and fell in love again, I started to feel like Charlotte
Rampling (feel, not look) as she wasted away in that isolated room with Dirk
Bogarde in "The Night Porter." Feeling better about your body is extremely
sensuous. As I look back and read this, I notice that men seem to be involved in
each one of these dieting episodes, although not in similar roles. Sometimes they are troubling, like that one during college. Sometimes they are absent and sometimes they are an exciting new beginning, as with the third. Not really any pattern. But another thing I notice is that every bout has started off in the spring.
Could the knowledge that a long Canadian winter is coming to an end be a
catalyst for me to try to experience a rebirth as a new, thinner entity? Or
is it just that as the parka comes off, my white, bumpy flesh is exposed to the world once again? I think it's actually just circumstance. If I'm pushed into not eating
for a day or two because of a nervous stomach, all of a sudden I find myself
enjoying it. And so far, I've been able to control it, rather than have it
control me. If I'm this positive about it, would I want, say, my daughter to start
starving herself? Definitely not. In fact, when she started to complain
about her weight (which was perfect) a year ago, I told her all
women feel fat -- even the skinniest -- so she shouldn't worry about it. And she stopped worrying. I don't want her to start because I'm concerned if she
ever finds out how good it feels, she won't be able to quit. It is that kind
of thing. If you can control it, it is a great dieting tool, but once it
controls you, you're in real trouble. I have friends who have starved themselves down to 80 pounds. I have known people who died because of their starving habit. So why do I play with it? I don't experiment with drugs that can kill me, so why do I dabble in such a dangerous dieting game? With anorexia and bulimia, I've always been on the precipice. As long as I can keep myself from tumbling off the edge, I have nothing to fear from it. And so far, I've been able to. So what's wrong with that?
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