I lied to you about my #WeightLoss ... I took photos of myself at the gym, that were really just me standing there on a fitness machine. I asked my boyfriend to take them because I wanted to feel strong, healthy, and capable...at least online. The truth is, I was none of those things.
If you knew me, you would have seen me lying on my back on a mat, #exercising for the first time that week by stretching my arms and legs. You would have seen the 45 minutes I laid there, just staring out the window. Mea culpa...mea maxima culpa. I blame myself....but I blame you too.
Because when I admitted the real reason...that I lost 180 lbs in 1 year from illness, nausea and vomiting, and an inability to eat, you didn’t care.
“At least you look good now, right?”
“Congrats on your weight loss!”
And even, incredibly...”at least you’re healthy now” ... uh no, I’m the opposite.
Did you know that when my friend was living with #Cancer you said the same thing? You speak the same way of people with #autoimmune #HIVAIDS and every other disorder that causes extreme weight loss. #Extremeweightoss , my social media friend, is often the hallmark of #ChronicIllness .... but you don’t care.
Someone taught you that extremely slim bodies are sexy and attractive. Someone taught you that it’s okay to say that to me. “Aren’t you glad you lost weight?”
Today, I used most of my energy not to lash out at you in anger and rage. No, I am not glad. I did not particularly enjoy my little trips to the hospital and intimate sessions with medical implements. The spa-like smell of bleached sheets and the soothing sounds of screaming in pain do not throw me into a tizzy of joy and happiness....
...and you’re not beautiful if nobody ever sees you.
Instagram, if you are going to like the photo I took laying down day 5 of not being able to leave my couch, after passing out several times but finally getting my makeup done....please don’t tell me how much healthier, stronger, and more beautiful I look. At least not because I’m thinner.
Thinness (or the lack thereof) are not indicators of good health. People die more often of being underweight than overweight.
You might wonder why I care so much, Instagram, or you might not. I’ll tell you anyway.
I did this to myself.
I wanted to be thin. I wanted to be a model. I glamorized #AnorexiaNervosa . I was not an anorexic person. I was a person who thought anorexic behaviours would improve my life! I would get a boyfriend! I would have friends! I could be a model.
I did get a boyfriend. I did get friends. I did get fans and followers and stalkers and background roles in movies. I was a model.
I did get inflammatory bowel disease. A permanently hair-triggered gag reflex. A lifetime of stomach pain, hemorrhoids, anal fissures, blood in my stool, vomiting blood, allergies, immune disorders, and the inability to eat more than a half cup of food without throwing up.
It wasn’t with it.