First came the test of my willpower. Would I be able to control my food intake or would I succumb to my own gluttonous desires?
Food was much harder to deny than I imagined. I thought that if I set my mind to the task, it would be easy. It was not. There was no easy way of fighting off that hunger sensation other than getting used to it, or by giving my body what it wanted. As my stomach would growl and moan, my mind reacted and yelled back. My logical self knew that I needed fuel in order to have enough energy to get through the day, yet my mind and the monster took over the show. When it came to the monster, it always won. The monster was the boss.
No matter how hungry I became, my mind shouted back, telling my stomach to stay quiet and explaining to me that I really was not hungry. I was convinced that the hunger pangs were only temporary and food was not necessary in my goal to become happy. In order to achieve that ultimate goal, I had to lose the weight.
The human body is very skilled at knowing when something just is not right. A body infected with an airborne virus brings on a cough. An overworked body produces sweat in order for it to cool itself down. A hungry body is no different, as it repeatedly shouts at its owner to satisfy it with nutrition and calories. When the body is hungry for food, the body lets it be known. The sensation of an empty stomach begging for food became addicting once I got over the pain and discomfort. The pain was no longer painful. Emptiness meant that very little or no calories had been consumed, and my flatter stomach made me feel thinner, even if it was all in my head. Sometimes it felt as though tiny little people were inside of me, pushing and pulling at my insides, whispering to me to take a bite of food, making it harder and harder for me to ignore the hunger. I thought of it as a test, another test that I could easily pass in order to keep myself on the path to happiness. If I could keep going, I would surely feel differently about myself soon, right?
It did not take very long for me to start changing my habits. Normally, before my new-found challenge, I never looked at nutrition labels on packages and I did not really care about how many calories I was eating at every meal. I had soon become an expert at calorie counting. I was not able to eat until I examined the labels. Any food that came into view, I could rattle off its calorie count without hesitation. I was quite proud of my unique feat; I thought that not many other people knew as much as I did.
My meals were slowly getting smaller and smaller, yet I hid the fact quite well so that no one noticed what I was doing. By eliminating items one by one, the change was not drastic and I was never questioned as to why I was eating less. I became high on my accomplishments. I thought that maybe I would be able to push myself even further than I had ever thought possible. My memory was performing surprisingly well, considering the amount of food I was putting into my body, and I could easily list what I had eaten for an entire week. Weight and food became more important to me than anything.
I compare my obsession to that of a drug addict. I am not and have never been a drug addict, but I can only assume that it is the same mentality. The high I got from my hunger was equivalent to the high induced by cocaine. Even without much fuel, I was able to perform very well in class. Instead of being tired, my adrenaline rushed through my veins because of my excitement. I was super-human and did not need calories like other people.
After a while, hunger became my normal state of being. I was succeeding so far in achieving my goal. I had lost a few pounds, and I thought to myself, why not lose a few more? A few pounds would solidify the happiness I was looking for and it gave me another little challenge to keep pushing myself.
Realistically, before I even started dropping pounds, my body did not necessarily need to lose any weight at all. I had always been an athlete and so my body was fit and far from overweight. But my body did not look like those in the magazines, either. Instead of muscular, athletic builds, I noticed that the most popular girls in magazines, movies, and television were very thin. They had no muscles like I did. They looked frail and delicate, yet also weak. Their weakness somehow drew me in and I frequently wished I could look like them. I knew that most women in the real world looked nothing like the famous celebrities, but their image seemed almost magical and perfect. Perfect. They seemed perfect. I daydreamed of the day when I would look like them and be just as flawless.
I had fallen victim to society’s endless portrayal of the “All American Woman.” This “All American Woman” could do everything she put her mind to, all while looking impeccable and with a smile on her face. She made no mistakes and she knew all of the right answers. Her body matched her personality, a compatible companion to the mind of the woman every girl wanted to be. Only, the “All American Woman” was an imaginary character, pretending to be like the typical housewife, student, and daughter every one saw walking the streets. I strived to become the character I saw every day, the character that was shoved in my face for entertainment and brainwashing. My life would be problem free once I was that woman, I thought.
2
Cracks in the Lies
It seems as though I've gotten a job at Camp Barnes, meaning I will be away for a full eight weeks starting next Tuesday. Orientation/training week is Tuesday through Friday, and then the campers come on Sunday....every Sunday through Friday. I'm very anxious about making friends and meeting people, but I assume they will all be nice. I'm assuming I'll make friends with at least one of the other girls. I'm also nervous about being away for so long. Not because I'll miss home, but because of eating situations. At home, I am in complete control. I don’t know what to expect there.
As my obsessions grew stronger and stronger through the year, my mind now had to focus on my new job as a camp counselor at a sleep away camp for young children. My weight and food had to be something to put on the back burner for the duration of the summer, only I was not quite sure how to make that happen. I hoped that the ever-so-present monster in my head would quiet itself while I worked with children. Adding children into the mix changed situations entirely and I was not sure how I would be able to stay true to my duties as a counselor and keep track of my growing fascination of toying with my body.
Since my new found challenge had started taking up most of my time, mostly mentally, I failed to notice that I isolated myself from my family and friends. Because I was working at a camp for the summer, I was no longer isolated. I had to function in the real world with real people, not some imaginary world within my mind. I was living with 12 other girls in one huge room, something I was definitely not used to. Being an only child allowed me to have my own room. I liked having my own space and I was safe and comfortable being alone while at home or at college. Interacting with others seemed like a weird ritual to me since I had not done it very much in quite a long time.
Sticking out from the crowd was always something I worried about. With every move I made, I was conscious of my actions and how others would perceive me. Being stuck in a group of 23 of my peers was not my idea of a good time. I had no idea how I would get through the summer. My distorted thinking told me that I was different from everyone else and no one understood who I was or what I was about. The mind plays dirty tricks on those who lack confidence and my mind let me know that I was not as good as the others.
The anxiety overwhelmed me and I immediately felt out of place. I asked myself, how was everyone else able to socialize and be comfortable with being themselves? Apparently, I had missed the socialization class in life. I was probably too busy thinking of the calories in my organic granola bar. Already shy from a young age, my apprehension to speak to others must have been obvious to everyone else. In a room full of people, I was still alone. To make matters worse, one of the first activities we had together was dinner. I silently moaned to myself while everyone else was thrilled at the thought of scoring some free food. Eating in front of others was especially hard for me.
“Hi, I’m Amber! What’s your name?” A petite girl stood next to me in line as we waited for the food to be set out.
“Oh,
hi. I’m Erin.” I smiled politely and had no idea what to say next. Luckily, she had an outgoing personality that made things easier for me.
“Cool. Where are you from? I came all the way from Arizona, just got in today.”
“I don’t live far from here. Just outside of D.C.” I wondered if she was truly interested or if she was just being nice and making conversation.
Our dinner soon appeared and everyone quickly rushed to the table to get first picks. I heard a few guys yell out a few cheers and all were excited but me. I dreaded eating meals, much less meals with others sitting around, eating at the same time. I feared that people would stare and judge me based on my food choices. I was horrified at the thought of someone whispering to another, telling them how fat I was or how much weight I would gain from eating a certain food.
As I stepped up to the buffet table, my fear turned into panic. The dinner: fried chicken with mashed potatoes, green beans, and biscuits. There was absolutely no way I was going to eat that chicken. Racing thoughts took over my brain, racing thoughts of calories and fat and the oil that was used to fry that chicken. I could picture the fat dripping from the crispy skin, the butter soaking through the layers of the biscuit. Green beans were usually okay in my book, but did the cook add anything to them? What if butter was added to them, too? How much butter was thrown into the mashed potatoes? What was I supposed to eat?
I excused myself and ran to the bathroom. My palms met my face and I began sobbing, tears freely flowing from my eyes. I did not know how I was going to deal with meals every day. This was just the beginning. There were no nutrition labels to read before I ate, and at home, I carefully calculated every calorie before I took the first bite. I was not going to be able to know my caloric intake for meals. I also had no scale to track my progress.
The door swung open and Amber walked over to me.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Something’s in my eye.” I was great at lying when it came to my emotions. No one ever knew if I was sad. I had always figured that I could be dying of a gunshot wound and I would still be able to reassure everyone around that I really was fine.
I wiped the tears from my cheeks with a rough paper towel and hesitantly returned to the buffet table with Amber. A deep breath entered my lungs as I dipped the spoon into the first dish.
My dinner that night consisted of a mound of green beans and a spoonful of mashed potatoes. Cleverness struck and I told everyone else that I ate before I came to camp that day. The only problem was that excuse would not work any longer.
I managed to fool everyone again during breakfast the next morning. My excuse? “I don’t really eat breakfast.” The majority of the other girls did not eat breakfast all too often, either. The plan for the day was to get to know each other a little better and then go off on a hike through the woods. I was not too keen on getting to know everyone better, just because of the awkwardness, but I was looking forward to the hike. It meant that I would get some exercise and burn a few calories. I was not really one to seek out exercise for the fun of it, but I also was not going to turn down an opportunity.
I laced up my tennis shoes nice and tight and joined my fellow co-workers at the start of the hiking trail. Some of the boys had already trekked through the woods to satisfy their curiosity, but for most of us, it was our first time.
The gravel that marked the beginning of the trail slipped under the soles of my shoes. We walked quite a bit and landed at a campsite that was used by campers throughout the summer. Sleeping outside was another thing I was not looking forward to doing, but I figured that this would be a summer to test my comfort level. It had already been tested with something as simple as food. After resting at the campsite for a while, gulping down water in order to stay hydrated, we continued down a steep incline of a sloped walkway. We crossed a beautiful bridge, which was built over a narrow stream. I stepped down from the wooden structure and my eyes grew wider as I saw what was ahead.
"We're climbing that??" My voice trembled as I asked another girl, Danielle.
"Yep! Pretty cool, huh?"
I was not thrilled with the idea of climbing a mountain of a hill that was supposedly a part of a nature trail. The incline was something that would intimidate the most advanced hikers. Fallen trees blocked parts of the passage where we were to cross. Large rocks were spotted throughout, as well. I did not feel ready to continue on this challenge, yet there was no other way to get back to camp. I had to go forward and follow everyone else.
As I started moving up the hill, I quickly grew winded and it became harder and harder for me to breathe. Climbing such a hill was a workout, but it should not have been as hard as it was for me, being only 19. The others did not seem to have the same problem. Their legs were burning from the intensity but they were not panting, nor did they look scared as if something was wrong. By the time we got halfway up the hill, I had to stop and take a break for a few minutes. My heart was pounding so much that I thought I saw my shirt rise up and down with the beat. Sweat was starting to drip down my face as my body was not used to such a hard task. I sucked it up and continued to move.
Slowly, I made it to the top of the hike, thrilled that I did not pass out on the way. But just as I was celebrating my success, my vision became darkened and my head was spinning. In order to control the sensations, I had to crouch down on the ground while pretending everything was okay. I did not want anyone to know how horrible I was really feeling. Randy, a certified personal trainer, suggested that everyone check their pulse to make sure our hearts were working properly. I placed my fingers on the side of my neck and counted for 30 seconds, then doubled that number to figure out my pulse rate. It was well above what would be considered normal for someone my age, only I told everyone else that I was completely fine.
I slowly stood up after the tiny black dots cleared from my vision and took a sip of water. For a minute, I wondered why it was so hard for me to complete an exercise that was relatively easy for others my age. The answer was so obvious but I did not think it would make such an impact. Of course, my eating, or lack thereof, was starting to be apparent to my body. My body started battling with my mind. It was not happy at what I was doing. My body had been handling things well up until that point. But for the moment, I chose to ignore what it was physically telling me. I chose to listen to my mind instead.
A few days later, the kids arrived at camp ready to run around day after day and have fun. I was excited since I had always loved working with children. The innocence of those who do not know the truth of the world was amazing to see. I missed that innocence of childhood when the biggest problem in life was picking out the color of a shirt to wear that day.
All 24 counselors were separated into groups of four, six counselors together, three boys and three girls. I was placed with the youngest group of kids, my favorite. I assumed that eating with the young kids would be an easy task and they would never pick up on my weird eating habits. They would not know that how I was eating was harmful to my body. They were not that smart, were they?
I thought wrong. They were only nine, but they were fully aware that what I was doing was not normal.
One morning after I made sure that my table of kids had all of their food, I sat down in my chair at the head of the table. What sat in front of me was barely a snack: a mini box of Froot Loops with no milk and a cup of coffee. What was worse was my habit of eating the sugary cereal. Unknowingly, I picked out each piece of cereal one by one. Not only that, I categorized them by color and ate them in a specific order. I was very meticulous and failed to notice the nine year old staring at my ritual.
"Why do you eat your cereal like that?"
Her question startled me. I was not expecting the children to pick up on my obsessive symptoms.
"Like what?" I played dumb as if I had no idea what she was talking about.
"You eat them in order! Why? Why do you eat so little? Are you trying to lose weight or something?" Her puzzled look concerned me.
I realized that I did not want to influence the children in any negative ways.
"Oh, I didn't even notice!" I lied and continued to eat my cereal, making sure to eat them at random. She seemed convinced of my answer but came back with another statement.
"You don't need to lose weight, you know! You're skinny."
How a nine-year-old girl would even know about weight loss surprised me, until I thought back to when I was that age. I knew about weight loss much earlier. It has become weaved into our culture and children have learned about weight loss at a very young age.
The days at camp seemed to drag on forever. Because of the heat of summer and the screaming kids, I was becoming very exhausted. I promised myself that I could stick to my strict eating habits, no matter what was thrown my way. I was sticking to my plan but it seemed to be making me miserable. Many people hate being miserable, however, being miserable only reminded me that I was staying on the path. It had become my path of safety, my path of control when things seemed too overwhelming. I was starting to think that maybe I was going to need to choose between that path and another path in order to stay working. The other path would be to throw my food rules out of the window and hope that I would not gain any weight over the summer. I was not too sure about that option. How was I supposed to change my direction and change my ways? I was so used to relying on my obsessions for comfort. When kids were loud in the dining hall, I could focus my attention on the number of peas on my plate. If I felt disgusting and overweight, I could focus on my hunger pangs and that let me know I was safe.
Restricted: A novel of half-truths Page 2
