May 17, 2004

Anorexia....from the beginning

I will open with a description of events that added up to my becoming anorectic. My father is Italian and his father had arranged for him to marry a nice Italian girl. The girl that had captured his heart was my mother. They had met in kindergarten and were sweethearts all the way through elementary school. When it came to marriage my father had his own way and he married the woman who was to become my mother. They were married in August of 1949. My mother was 20 and my father was 22. I am the second eldest of four kids. I have one brother who is 2 years older than I, a sister who is six years younger than I and another brother who is fourteen years younger than myself. Mark, my older brother had asthma quite severely and required much of my mother's time. He was constantly in and out of the hospital on a regular basis. A few years ago my mother spoke of feeling guilty as she paid very little attention to me as an infant. I'm told I was a content baby and was often left lying on the floor with a bottle propped up feeding me. My mother now states that she wish she would have held me more frequently. I think this is why I have a difficult time feeling connected to anyone. It's also very difficult for me to be intimate with anyone and I prefer to be alone much of the time as of this present date. I felt left out as a child and it carried over to my older years as well.

In spite of the neglect I still feel that I had a happy childhood. While my mother was occupied with my older brother much of the time she still found time to do things like take us to the park, read stories to us, bake lavish birthday cakes, and occasionally she was very affectionate. My first ten years passed quickly and almost without any major incident. I did have meningitis at the age of eight and I was hospitalized for nearly three weeks. I recovered from that as I was entering the third grade. At that time we made what was a major move for us. My father had worked diligently to make it possible to build his own home. Up until that time we had lived in a 2-bedroom aluminum bungalow. After a major amount of working overtime we moved into our new home. We all felt like we were living in a palace! The front and back yards were just clay and dirt but we didn't care at all. I began attending the neighborhood school and met several kids who would become good friends to me.

During this time I began to notice a significant change in my mother. She began to hear me say things I would never say to her. She started to have fits of rage with little or no provocation. When she was not please with me she would try to get a grip on me and beat the tar out of me. Lucky for me I was a good runner and I knew that if she ran after me enough she would soon tire of it. Occasionally she would leave welts on me. This would be difficult for her to explain to my father because she always kept her new wild behavior from him. He never saw what we kids saw. Once in a while she would get angry with my older brother too. I can remember her chasing him through the house with a frying pan. Lucky for him he was skinny and fast he could always slip out of her grasp. It finally got so bad that I was convinced that my mother had schizophrenia. I don't know how I arrived at that diagnosis I just never knew if I was coming home to a mother or a monster.

When I approached adolescence I began to stuff myself with sweets of any kind. I didn’t know why those foods were so comforting to me. As a young teen I knew little about good nutrition and I knew nothing about the psychological impact that my family had on me. I was very scared and confused as a young teenager and eating helped me feel more secure. I didn’t have any understanding of why I did what I did. I can remember buying huge amounts of chocolate, locking myself in the bathroom…the only room that locked in our house. Then I would down a fair amount of it. I would then eat a small dinner and my parents would comment on how little I ate…not knowing that I had binged on candy earlier.

I also began to have what my mother called nervous ticks. I would whistle in a straight monotone for a prolonged period of time. I shook my head left and right…quickly and repeatedly. There were a few other things that also began showing up. I can remember my mother asking my father if she could take me for some form of counseling. My father would not hear of it so I didn’t get to attend something that may have very well been a huge help to me.

Unfortunately it was very important to my parents that I be thin, popular, and attain an excellent GPA in school. When I did not accomplish these things great pressure was brought upon me by my parents. We had many long talks on the subject of my over-eating and grades in school. Finally, when I did not curb my eating my parents took me to a pediatrician other than our usual one. She had me put on an 800-calorie diet, amphetamines and diuretics. I was a depressed mess on meds and I quickly dropped to a weight that my parents approved of. None of my internal issues were resolved so it was only a matter of time that once I was off the meds I would regain the weight. Within months I would once again be put back on the amphetamines, diuretics and 800-calorie diet.

This continued for a period of approximately four years. I was an emotional basket case while on the meds. For much of the time I was depressed and cried often…which was a source of irritation to my mother. She would physically lash out and slap me across the face and told me to snap out of it. I had no means of help so this vicious cycle perpetuated itself making me spiral into an ever-deeper depression. One day I heard my other talking to my older brother about getting me a date for an upcoming dance at school. He replied something to the effect that he couldn’t get me a date if his life depended on it. That conversation hurt me deeply and profusely. I opened my diary and made an entry. I stated that I would either lose 50 pounds by the end of the summer or I would take my life. If they wanted thin I would give them thin. I had enough!

I went on my new quest with great anticipation. I would finally be thin; my parents would finally love me and show their approval to me. I logged everything I ate down on paper. I would then tally up the calories and determined where and when I would have to curb my appetite. I increased my level of physical exercise too. The first 20 pounds seemed to take forever to lose. After that the weight seemed to come off quickly. Two months later I had lost almost 40 pounds but it was not apparent yet to my parents. My father one day pulled at my stomach and said something to the effect of well…what is this here I can pull on? I was angered deeply and when on an even stricter diet. When I lost another ten pounds it was finally apparent that I had lost a large amount of weight. When I was taken out to buy new clothes my parents began to realize what I had done. I was very thin but I continued to diet. My father began giving me a new message. He would tell me that I had lost enough weight and that I could stop now. I laughed in his face and said that he was going to continue to get thinner. I can remember him slamming me against the wall telling me to stop losing weight. I laughed in his face and told him that he was going to get the long awaited slender, popular high achieving daughter he had wanted. The old Kathy was gone and the new one was relentless at achieving her goals. My GPA at school suddenly became a 4.0 average and I was asked out on dates frequently. I was constantly exercising always conscious of burning off the few calories I ate. I existed on the bare minimum of food and often felt like I was going to pass out. My clothing continued to sag on my and my weight began to plummet below one hundred pounds. I was emotionally detached to most of the people in my life. I often felt depressed and longed for my life to end. The first 18 years had been miserable and I didn’t really feel like continuing. However I made no attempts at actively taking my life and I decided to turn to God as my source of help.

So, that is how ana begun in my life. It was not something I planned on nor was it something I enjoyed. It felt like a prison and the bars locking me in were stronger than I was. They were more intelligent than I too. Only after many many years did I experience some passing relief.

Posted by Kathy on May 17, 2004 03:14 AM

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