The first time we fought, I tell people we were in the 2nd grade.
Truth is, it might have been 3rd, but neither of us remember anymore so at some point we resigned ourselves to this story.
End of the day– walking out of class- you snuck up behind me and pulled on the tail of my backpack.
Your bag isn’t cool, you said, brushing past.
It’s Lion King, I said.
No one wears those. You pointed at your back. We wear Jansport.
I don’t like Jansport, I said.
Then you’re not very cool, you said.
What follows next is hazy – we’d admit – but after telling the story for 20 years, we’ve agreed that you were being obnoxious and at some point I turned, fist clenched, and socked you in the face.
I’ve been trying to write this post for months but the truth is I detest writing about binge eating.
Anorexia? Bulimia? Drunkorexia? Sure thing. I’ll write about that till the cows come home ’cause a year and a half into recovery doesn’t change the surge of pride I still feel when I write about the lost days of thin.
Perhaps I’ll always have a twisted sense of validation when I write about the ”success” of anorexia. It’s like the boys baseball coach who’s still talking about his “1976 glory days” even though they’re long gone.
I worked hard at being thin; I spent hours feeling the bones in my shoulder as some sort of ritualistic celebration- so subconsciously I still have a tendency to talk about it with the same kind of nostalgia that Hemingway wrote about the Parisian Jazz Era.
As shameful as it “should be” to admit that I stuck my fingers down my throat, it’s actually far more vulnerable to publicly acknowledge the aspects of my eating disorder where I felt the opposite. Sure, I’ve made quips here and there. I’ve joked about binge-eating gallons of ice cream, but I’ve never talked about it in a way that mirrors honesty because it’s embarrassing to me.
And frankly, binge eating is not attractive… so we rarely talk about it. Face it: our culture LOVES looking at anorexics like they’re Madame Medusas with snakes for limbs.
Thought this might be a relevant time to talk about this subject given that this is a day filled with chocolate bunnies and candy-filled eggs.
Let me start off by making the very blanketed statement that holidays are hard when you have an eating disorder.
There’s pressure to stay present, pressure to eat around multiple people, pressure to eat different things. Pressure to “veer off course” if you will.
For me personally, it opens up the doors to the cycle- especially that of bulimia and binge eating. In my worst years, I’d end up cycling through all the eating disorder behaviors like a Ferris Wheel. If we had family coming for a holiday, I didn’t eat in the morning. Even when they’d arrive, I stayed upstairs pretending to be “getting dressed” so I could avoid the buffet of finger foods and appetizers my mother always cooks. (Such a shame looking back as she’s the Betty Crocker of this decade.. all the more reason I avoided it!)
One year into recovery, it still continues to stress me out at times. All the little foods, all the dips and the chips. My God- do you ever really know how to monitor when you’re full, or what you’re eating when you’re just taking bites of everything?
Holiday eating is typically a grand affair in most families and it’s no different in mine; a full 5-star dining experience in the Hall household- finishing with a slew of desserts. Pie, angel food, better-than-sex- cake (it’s as good as it sounds), you name it.
It’s wonderful for people who eat with normal daily food habits. It’s wonderful to indulge in treats and courses of food and the dips when you’re aware enough and mentally healthy enough to understand that one day isn’t going to cause you to gain weight- but for someone with an eating disorder it’s often daunting.
I’m better now- I have been able to handle the past few holidays with relative success- but it’s still like gearing up to get on a roller coaster every time I’m put in a situation with a lot of food.
Whether it be an office holiday party, a housewarming party, a wedding, or Easter- here are a few ways I’ve been able to cope with the stress of eating at a special occasion or holiday:
I’d love to say the following truth won’t embarrass this person- but the fact of the matter is that I think it could-
Stoic, Unemotional, Easygoing, Passive- All words to describe my little tart of a brother before I get this post rolling.
But I’m writing this today- because it’s a crucial thing to cover. Family. I could write 10,000 posts on my relationships with them- could write a novel over how supportive- and genuine their love was throughout this time: But I think it’s stories like the following- that actually encompass what it means to remind yourself of what’s important. So that when shiz gets tough- and it will- that you remember the pretty little moments that are encircling it-
So with that:
Truth No. 7: “If Someone Were To Harm My Family, I’d Eat Them:
7.) “If Someone Were To Harm My Family, I’d Eat Them:
Might Go to Jail for 500 Years, But I’d Eat Them“
-Johnny Depp
It’s December 28, 2013- 3 weeks into rehab- and you’re sitting on your knees in front of the mirror trying to push through an old earring when your roommate opens the door.
Damn, you mutter- feeling the back of your ear start to bleed.
You never understand how after 15 years- your.ears.still.bleed.
Hey, she says- tossing her binder on the bed. You missed group?
You push it again- one final time- rubbing the lobe with your fingers.
My grandparents are coming, you say- looking back at her through the mirror.
Now? she says- climbing into her bed for her nap.
You nod, standing up- checking yourself in the mirror- smoothing down your black pencil skirt over your thighs.
You’ll wonder if they’ll notice- your grandparents.
Wonder if they’ll exchange looks when you can’t see- and when they go to leave-
Get back in the car and talk quietly about how unfortunate it is that you ”let yourself go.”
You’ll understand if they do, you think- feeling your waist take up the material of your skirt.
Feeling your backside rub up against it.
Imagining your stomach expand.
This used to be big-
You used to take breaks during work-
Slip into the hallway bathroom- when no one was in there
Untuck your shirt from your skirt- lift it above your ribs in the mirror-
To make sure they were still there.
That your meal hadn’t taken them away from you- your beautiful bones.
You are proud of this, you think those days- when you’d eaten one less almond than before.
You turn in the mirror- the bathroom mirror in front of the stalls- feel the skirt slide down your waist- to your hips.
Stare at your back end- drop your shirt and reach out and up your back to feel your shoulder blades unveil- like goosebumps on your skin.
How you enjoyed cupping them- holding those blades in your palms. Your chest out- standing with your feet shoulder length apart.
You were beautiful then- And you felt it.
You were hungry then- But you’d grown used to it.
You were hurting then- Thinking to yourself ”This is how it will always be.”
And you’re remembering that now- staring into your rehab bedroom mirror-
When you hear a giggle behind you.
Your outfit, she says- pulling the comforter to her chest.
You’re caught- you know it.
Dude, It’s my grandparents- I can’t be lopping around them in a beanie and denim.
Why not?
You shake your head. I just can’t-
She rolls her eyes. I’d love to see your closet. I bet you have everything separated into categories, don’t you?- Just like oh here’s clothes for my grandparents- here’s my work clothes- here’s my wannabe hipster clothes- here’s my preppy Texas clothes.
You can’t help but snort- balancing with your hand on the bed and zipping up the back of your brown leather boot.
I didn’t even know you had those, she says. And what the hell is with your hair?
What- you say, turning back in the mirror- You don’t like it?
It’s more ridiculous than when your parents came.
It’s a bun- you exclaim. It’s a work bun.
You look like my grandmother.
Exactly, you say- pointing a finger at her.
Have fun Pollyanna- she says as you shut the door to your room.
You walk down to the community room now- 10 minutes before they arrive.
You pass the nurses station on the way- feel Nurse Sheila eye you from her stoop.
Hello, Ms. Hall- she says.
You think she looks like your mother- You’re missing your mother.
Been missing them since you watched security escort the families off when visiting hours were over at Christmas.
You wave to her and walk past- choosing not to stop until a voice bellows from behind you.
Good God- You hear.
No, you say immediately No. No. No.-Whipping around as Lilly kicks open the door of the hallway phone booth.
Her hair- you notice immediately- looking like a birds nest from being leaned against the inside wall- she’s holding the cord of a phone in her hand- her eyes dancing around you.
Brilliant. She smirks. Who’s coming today- Mom? Aunt? Great-Grandmother? Godparent?
Grandparents.
Can I meet them?
No.
Please, she says- and talks into the phone. Tell Lindsey she has to introduce me to her grandparents.
You’d scare them, you say. Who is that?
One guess.
You roll your eyes. Tell her I said what’s up.
Lindsey says what’s up, she says into the receiver. Yeah, I’ll tell her. She looks like fucking Cindy Whoo-Hoo.
Cindy Lou-Who, you idiot. We just watched that.
She smiles. Grace says Hi.
Tell her I hope she’s doing well- And it’s not the same without her.
I will.
You walk into the community room- leaving Lilly to talk to her new girlfriend.
A very Orange-Is-The-New-Black situation if ever there was one.
Can’t believe y’all, you say later- when the moment has passed- and you’re walking out to the healing garden. (The name really is that cheesy)
We got you- didn’t we? Your dad says, smugly. Holding your red binder in his hands.
-He always holds your things for you-
Like he did when you were little- and you held out your gum in the car “Here somebody,” you’d say “I’m done.”
And he’d take it- mock rolling his eyes at you- but he always took it.
Were they ever coming? You wonder
They wanted to, he says. But we figured it’d be kinda hard on you so I told them you needed your space.
The Florida sun’s hitting the tops of your heads.
Thank you, you say. It’s chilly today, isn’t it? Michael beside you with his phone in his hand.
Yeah, he agrees- opening the weather app from his home screen.
What I wouldn’t give for a phone- you muse.
I bet you’re dying, he grins.
My phone bill’s not.
You nudge your dad with your elbow. So how’d yall end up staying?
Michael grins, It was random-
It was, your dad says- entering the garden behind you. We were on our way to the airport and I just kinda had this moment where I was like HEY, why not? It’s Christmas break- no one’s working- Michael’s outta school. Let’s just stay.
You smile- looking at Michael. You didn’t have party plans?
I do, he says- Just not till New Years.
Ah yes- I see.- But secretly, you know he could’ve.
And you? He smirks. Gonna toast it with some apple juice?
You grin- slap him over the head as the three of you sit down on some chairs in the garden.
Your dad rocking in the patio chair- Your brother eyeing you over.
And here you are- doing it again, you think- pulling your brother close.
Feeling his arms around your waist.
Thank you, you whisper again- and you wish you could say more.
Of course, he says- Bet it’s lonely in there.
Sometimes, you admit. But it’s safe.
And you hope he understands what you mean- but aren’t sure.
You hand your binder to him to say goodbye to your dad- Hold this- you say.
And you turn to your dad- thanking him for staying. Thanking him for being there regardless what you’ve done-
Standing there holding your dad- feeling him coddle you like you know he did that time you were 9 months old and fell off the bed.
They joke about it at Christmas sometimes- your family- about how your dad used to freak out when he held you. Assume the worst when you bumped your head or burped too much spittle.
You’re thinking that right now- feeling his hug- how nice that is to feel.
A hug.
You’re not thinking about what he’s thinking of your weight as he feels your skin on his-
You’re not wondering if he’s embarrassed by where you are.
Right now- he’s just your dad.
And your brother’s just your brother.
And family stayed for you.
You say goodbye again- Michael passing you back the binder.
You watch their backs turn to you- Your funny little family.
With their funny little polos.
And their funny little khakis.
Your dad’s hand on your brother’s shoulder.
You realize it’s days like today-
That are the piece of recovery you hope to hold onto.
Later on- night comes, as it does once you’ve changed from your skirt to your sweatpants- your bun to your beanie- and you sit down for dinner in the cafeteria- surrounded by the women.
Women who keep their children’s photos in their name tag holders- women who hold pictures of their husbands in their hands when they eat- women who look for every other reason to help themselves when they don’t have enough love to do it on their own.
And you’re sitting there that night- your heart feeling sad and feeling full- when you open your red binder for a sheet of paper.
You’ve been slacking on your food journals you think- and hoping that no one will notice-
When you feel a white envelope fall out from the bottom- sweeping down alongside your chair.
Lindsey- you read- when you’ve picked it up,And somehow, you know who it’s from:
I know I’m not known as the most expressive person in this family, so I imagine this letter is going to come as a bit of a surprise. However, in an effort to please you, I thought I’d take a step away from my unemotional exterior and delve into my multi-faceted, truly emotional interior…
Ok, I’ll try and lay off the sarcasm from this moment forward.
First off, in writing this, I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me over the years. I look back and don’t know how I would have grown up without you helping me along the way and more importantly, being the older child who was the test subject for mom and dad’s punishments. (I think after your thousandth grounding from AIM they realized that they didn’t have to be as harsh on me. So…. Thanks sis!) I never got grounded because of you!
But in all seriousness, I know that I can count on you for anything. Whether it be my “interesting” social life or just how to tell Mom and Dad that I’ve fucked up, I know you’re going to give me the right advice. (Well, at least, some advice) For that, I want to re-thank you. I know many of my friends aren’t as close to their brothers and sisters as we are, and I can’t tell you how much it means that we stay this way.
As I sit here writing this, our family is finishing up with the yearly venture to Kansas City. It’s hard to explain but this trip was different without you. You’re the one in our family who always knows how to make everyone laugh and how to entertain us with one of your stories. I know that your humorous stories may seem kind of petty, but I think everyone would agree with me when I say that it tends to be the highlight of our dinners.
Of course, this year your name came up a lot. As you would expect, our family is worried about how you are doing. However nerve-racking and uncomfortable that makes you, you gotta admit that it’s kind of awesome that our family loves and cares this much about you.
Furthermore, I think everyone in the family would agree with me in saying that your situation definitely came as a surprise. You are one of, if not the most vivacious and outgoing person I have ever met.
Hearing that you’re struggling internally, and have been for some time, seems almost impossible to me and to everyone else. Of course we all face inner demons at some point in our lives, however I think it came as a surprise that these demons could afflict someone like you.
I know no matter how many times I tell you that you’re beautiful, or that you are, IN FACT, skinny that it’s not going to matter. But believe me when I tell you that I’ve never met a single person who didn’t think you were (much to the demise of many of your exes).
Lastly Lindsey, I just want to tell you how privileged I am to be your brother. I know that you have deemed me as the “golden child” in this family, but the truth is I’ve always felt you were the stronger sibling, and now I believe that even more.
Obviously, you hid your eating disorder from us for a long time, but when confronted, you admitted that you needed help and were willing to do whatever it took to get better. I know many would say that was the rational and easy choice, but I see it differently.
You didn’t hide and run from your problems. Instead, you faced them straight on. That’s one of the bravest moves you can make and I know there is no way I could have handled the situation as gracefully as you did. Well, really, I don’t even know if I could have even had the strength to admit I had a problem in the first place. You’re impressive, and I really mean that.
I know that I can be distant and often appear unemotional, but hearing that you’re going through all this makes me sick. I know it sounds cliché for me to say this, but if I could trade places with you I would. I hate you having to deal with this shit and having to overcome anything. However, it does comfort me to know that you are not only going to overcome it, but become an even stronger person than you already are.
Please, all I want you to know, whether it’s now, tomorrow, 5 years, or 50 years from now, is that I am always going to be there for you if you need someone. Lindsey I can’t wait to see you when you’re recovered and are happier than you’ve ever been.
