Resembled a 10 year old boy I remember being in Jr. High, and looking at all of my friends. They were all developing breasts and beginning to take on these womanly shapes. I, on the other hand, resembled a 10 year old boy. I had always been thin, and petite. I still don't understand, really, how I began thinking that I needed to lose weight, or wanting to lose weight. By this point, my mom was on husband number 3 and she was working full time as an RN at the local ER. She was home a lot less than when she was at work. My grandparents had a huge hand in raising us, and I honestly don't think I would still be here if I didn't have them in my life. My mother was bi-polar (just my opinion, no diagnosis) and she was a very angry person 90% of the time. She was hateful, jealous, and abusive (physically and emotionally) towards me, manipulative, and evil to all others. I was called "selfish" or a "disgusting cow" a lot. I do believe that when the one person you adore the most, and the one person you want to really SEE tells you these things, you believe them. I know I did. I think, looking back, that I began starving myself, binging and purging because it was something I had control over. I would get yelled at, and when I would vomit, it felt good. It felt like I was getting rid of the hate. I spent most of my adolescence miserable and depressed. I also realized how much I loved the attention I got from my peers when they made remarks about how they wish they could be as thin as I was. It was like a high for me to know that no matter what they did, they would never be as thin as I was. So what if they had breasts, and boys were looking at them. I was thin, and I knew when they were older, they would become overweight, and then who would want them? I felt like I was controlling ME, what went in me, and what came out of me. I didn't think I had a problem, though, because I wasn't weighing myself, and I wasn't counting calories. That is what people with "eating disorders" were doing. I did not have any disorder. I remember sitting in my room with my best friend talking about our boyfriends. Some of the kids in my school were giving themselves tattoos with their boy/girl friends names or initials on their ankles by carving it out with a straight razor, and then using ink from an ink pen to color them in. I tried it, but the initials I had were JLB, too many curves for me. I then realized that the carving was so similar but yet so much more powerful than the vomiting. Talk about release! From the moment the blade touched my skin, especially the thinest most tender parts, like the inside of my arm, my wrists, my ankles, I could feel the pain slipping with the blood that seeped from my skin. It all became a game to me and the less my parents noticed, the more dangerous it got. I would try to cut along the darkest color vein in my arm, pushing deeper and harder each time I went over it. I also began pulling my hair out strand by strand. I collected each strand. Gross, isn't it? I also kept my tissues, and razor blades in a little band-aid box. It was like my own little surgical kit. By the time I was a senior in high school, I weighed about 89 lbs. I met my now husband, and we got married the September after I turned 19. It wasn't long after we married that we found out we were pregnant with our son. Throughout the entire pregnancy, I was miserable. I was so sick, and I was constantly in the ER getting fluids due to dehydration. Each time I went for my checkups, I was questioned about my eating habits, and dieting practices. It was so difficult to make them understand that since I was so sick from being pregnant, I had no time to ponder MAKING myself vomit, I was doing it involuntarily. My weight at delivery was 97 lbs. I was told that my son would be what is called intrauterine growth retardation (IUBR). It is now referred to as intrauterine growth restriction. All of that basically means that he was not getting the essential nourishments in-utero, and even though he was born on schedule, he would look extremely small, and his head would be too large for his body. I was devastated. I had hurt this precious baby, because I was stupid, and selfish. That is what I told myself, anyway. On June 5, 1999, Kameron was born, and MUCH to my delight, and that of my Doctors, he was perfect. I really believe that GOD had heard my prayers. It has been 8 years since Kam's birth and a lot of things have happened in my life since then, good and bad. I have not quite learned to deal with stress very well. In 2003, my baby brother was killed in a car accident. I, unfortunately, began the entire cycle all over again. Only this time, I was aware of the damage it was doing to me, my husband, my kids, and especially my 3 month old daughter who was still breast feeding. My habits and the stress had caused my milk to dry up, and the only one who really had to pay the price was the family, and the baby. I had to really kick myself into gear. I had to make myself get healthy, or as healthy as I could get. Now, it is almost 2008 and I am 28 years old. On a daily basis, I have to look at and live with the damage I did to my own body, physically and emotionally. My teeth are in such bad condition from the vomiting, and lack of calcium and nutrients. I don't have a really good reason for letting all of this out today...my husband knows about 10% of what I just jotted down, but I think it is important for ME to get it out and possibly help someone else realize that the only damage being done is to yourself. Chances are that if your parents don't see you now, for who you are and what you are, then they are not going to see what you are becoming and what you are doing to yourself. It has been 15 years since I began binging, purging, starving, and cutting. I just recently told my mom what I had done as a teen. Her response was "Why would you want to do that to yourself?" I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to tell her I did it so she would see me. I mean really LOOK at me and see what she was doing to me. I wanted her to tell me that she was so sorry that her actions made me feel so belittled and unhappy. I wanted her to acknowledge her part in my self destruction. But instead, all she thought was that I was stupid for hurting myself and putting myself through all the pain and suffering that I did. She didn't say she was sorry. I am only speculating that 90% of other parents and loved ones are going to have the same thoughts and opinions that my mom did. Thank you for taking your time to read this AMAZON length story. It probably doesn't have a very good beginning, middle, and end, but it is my beginning, middle, and end. Thanks again!
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