It would be far too easy to say that adolescence is complicated, would it not? So instead I will say that MY adolescence was rather...confusing. You could probably have called me naive to a lot of things going on around me, but I really feel as though that wasnt exactly true: Just because I wasnt engaging in certain stereotypical behaviors didnt mean I didnt 'get it'. I have always been the mother; the one taking care of intoxicated friends, the one keeping people company in the smoke pit, the one passing out tissues to poor girls who got dumped by their lame boyfriends. All that to say, I played that mother role to a very, very dear friend of mine who we shall call Samantha. She was (IS) so beautiful, and as cliche as this sounds, her beauty always came from within and radiated to everyone she met. When we were in our mid-teens (heaven help that age group!) Samantha began to change...she stopped talking as much and starting acting as though she had a secret. It wasnt long before Samantha began to lose weight...rapidly. And people, I am telling you: She did not need to. Sam would eat what she liked and laugh along with the rest of us at the movies while holding her popcorn and candy, and she seemed hungry a lot. It wasnt long before Samantha came to me with her secret. She was bulimic. Sure, I was in that peer mentoring club thingy and should have seen the signs, but this was pretty big news for me. I was scared. I thought that she was going to die. She agreed to see a school counselor as long as I came along, but that didnt seem to help. One day we were hanging out at my house and for whatever reason we were in the bathroom together and I actually stood there and watched her make herself throw up. I will come back to this moment shortly.
Samantha eventually seemed to 'grow out' of this phase in her life, and she moved on after highschool to pursue some pretty awesome adventures. We have had far too few follow-up talks her (our) struggle.
So while all this was going on in Sam's life, I think I was kind of the opposite about my body image...I couldnt care less what I ate, what I wore, and what I looked like. I specifically remember being lectured about the nutritional value of slushies after years of believing that since they were liquid, they were calorie-free. Oh, one could only hope! I went to McDonalds as often as possible. I was Oriville Redenbachers #1 fan, keeping the microwave popcorn industry alive. It never really occured to me to be anything but carefree. YES, I had those freak-out-in-Mariposa moments when I couldnt find clothes that I liked. I was your average teen with braces and social problems. But once I graduated from highschool and moved into my late teens and early twenties, I truly felt as though I had made it through, scotch-free, on the whole eating-disorder front.
It was September, 2004. That is my earliest memory of this disease. I dont remember the first time. I dont remember why. I just know that I stuck my fingers down my throat and...well, you know. What I wouldnt give for a record of my statistics of that moment: what was my emotional stance? what were the surrounding circumstances? did I cry? where was I? did I grasp the concept that I would battle for many years to come? I dont want this information as a way to torture myself. I want it because for years I have been searching for answers. And there is STILL a missing link to this puzzel that I have yet to find. All I know is that one day I was fairly confident in who I was, and the next I was not. Can anybody else relate to that?
Coming back to Samantha and watching her throw up...I can tell you that I was absolutely broken in that moment. I felt helpless. I felt weak. I felt sad. I felt scared. I would have given anything to have her stop. To have her be whole again.
August 18th, 2009. Remember this date. That was the last day I will ever, ever, EVER force myself to throw up again for the rest of my life. Because in that moment I had a vision of standing there watching Samantha break...only this time it was me. I am not helpless. I am not weak. I am not sad. I am not scared. And I HAVE given anything to have ME stop. And I am on my way to being whole again.
~C~
