My Story #2-The Perfect Storm

I grew up in my elementary school years with three other little friends. And when I say little, I mean small in size, compared to me. I look back at my childhood pictures and I am far from over weight, but in comparison to my three friends, I was much larger. Not only was I larger, one of them would constantly point it out. She continually told me that I was fat and I believed her.
I also was a very compliant child. I was obedient with my parents, always had good behavior at school, and never caused trouble for anyone. I was a pleaser and was easily manipulated. All of these traits are common in someone that develops eating disorders.
Anorexia is very much a disorder of control. People often think it’s all about food and weight. It really isn’t. I will sometime in a future blog address this. I think parents of anorexics think that it is all about weight. Actually, it’s having control of your body that feeds the disorder. When other things in our lives are out of control, it’s the one thing we can have control over. It’s about control.
The stressors in my life that caused the perfect storm, and started the spiral into my disorder, came to a head when I was 14 years old. It was 1974. That’s a long time ago. Long before the words, anorexia, bulimia, or eating disorders were even known terms.
I pretty much got up one day and decided that I was not going to eat. I would get up before my family and instead of eating my regular bowl of cereal, I would dampen the bowl with a little milk and put a few flakes to make it look like I had eaten. I wouldn’t eat anything but an apple for lunch at school, and I would pick at my dinner. My parents didn’t notice anything different until the weight starting falling off. Then the fight began.
Up until then, they had a compliant child. One of their easiest to raise. No longer. I dug in my heels and refused to eat. It got bad. At 14 when your body should be growing and developing, my body was eating itself. Slowly, I started looking like a starving child from a refugee camp. Still I wouldn’t eat. And once again, it’s 1974. My parents have no idea what they are dealing with. They dealt with much anger. Probably the worst response. I needed help and I didn’t get it.