CHAPTER ONE
PUT ME INTO A PETITE BOX
1990
I
“You lost weight!”
“You look really good.”
“How did you do it?”
Were these welcoming words for a fifteen year-old girl blossoming into womanhood?
I wanted to hear my feminine allies whisper the words, “you lost weight.” But, not to
compliment
me; but rather to confirm that I was wasting away. I was fulfilling my secret plan to look
repulsive, with
bones sticking out of the sides of my face, and red blush covering my facial bones.
I was finally becoming a success at something -- being an anorexic! I wanted to be
somebody
important, somebody people would notice. I didn’t care why they noticed me, as long as
they did. I could
be the real life woman portrayed by a hot actress in a cheesy TV movie about anorexia.
That was what I
wanted to be good at. I couldn’t think of what else would give me as much attention and
success. I wasn’t
a cheerleader, lead actress in the high school musical, or the brainiac math genius
chick.
I liked sharing the vulnerability that many young women have with trying to fit into the
“normal”
expectations of being smart, thin and popular. But, on the other hand, I wanted to be
“bad”, and be
emaciated to retaliate against my parents. I also wanted to smartly scheme with other
anorexic sickos, in
group therapy, with my insane desire to learn to stick my emaciated fingers down my
hollow throat, just
like the actresses do in the cheesy TV movies.
Victoria, my best friend from high school, didn’t see me a lot in the summer. When she
did see
me, however, she was concerned.
“Hilda, you have anorexia nervosa.”
“You think so?” I was pleased, and sounded so. “Yeah.”
“No I don’t, actually.” I wanted to show people I was in “denial.” I was taught by my
parents that
I should never admit to being good at something,lLearning only to hint at it, and not
blatantly show it off.
School made me feel terrible about myself because I had a learning disability, and was
not a good student.
I wanted to show off I was in denial, like a textbook “bad girl” conniving anorexic. That
was what I was,
and what I wanted to be, because it gave me attention.
- “I haven’t lost that much weight.”
- “Yes you have. Did you bring your lunch today? What did you have for breakfast?
What are
you eating?”
- “I eat dinner. That’s enough. I just wanted to lose ten pounds, and I did. I have to
maintain
it now.”
- “That’s starvation.”
- “Who said so?” I asked.
- “I did,” she said. “You have to eat something.”
- “I’ll just have a Diet Coke,” I replied.
- “No. You’ll have some of my lunch,” she insisted.
- “I have a lunch. That doesn’t mean I’ll eat it.”
“I’m going to talk to Mrs. Red (the guidance counsellor),” she threatened. I was happy,
because
Mrs. Red would call my parents and everyone would know I was the anorexic: doctors,
teachers, students,
friends and my parents. I was an object to my parents in a way. I made them look bad
by being anorexic.
They would have to take responsibility for telling me I’m stupid. I was trying only to be
the typical
anorexic good girl or bad girl ( I don’t know which). I didn’t want my parents to lay off.
They were all
worried, and I was happy. I was getting the negative attention I thought I wanted. I was
confused.
The guidance office was covered with glass, so everyone could see in. I’m always
curious to
know about other people’s problems, or at least know that they have problems, just to
compare myself to
them. I didn’t really want others to have problems, since I wanted to be sick to get all the
glamour and
attention. I wanted to be the best. This meant I would get all the anorexic attention and
feel famous. I saw
Victoria go into the office. She must have been in there for an hour. Victoria told me
everything she and
the guidance counsellor talked about:
“You know, Hilda told me she has never menstruated before,” Victoria said.
“Well sure. It’s because she has anorexia,” the guidance counsellor said.
“Yes. I think so. What can we do about it?” Victoria asked.
“Well, I’ll have to call her parents.”
“That’s a very good idea.”
Mrs. Red was wearing a red shirt and a red dress and white high heels. She came into
school
wearing a fur coat. She was sitting in her chair, cross-legged, palm on chin, nodding. It
was funny to me
how she sat because she was so cheesy.
I don’t have anorexia. I don’t, I thought. It can’t be. I’m not good at anything. I’m just
average.
At the time, Mrs. Red did not know who “Hilda” was. Once she left the office with
Victoria, she
spotted me.
“It’s her, isn’t it,” she said loudly.
“Yeah,” said Victoria.
“Hilda...”
“Yes?” I responded.
“Are you Hilda?” She asked.
“Sure I am,” I said.
“Well, you’ve never been in trouble with me before. You’re a good kid. Are you eating
though?”
“What would make you think I wasn’t?” I was playing.
“Does your doctor know about how much weight you’ve lost? How much do you weigh
Hilda?
How much have you lost Hilda?”
“Why would you care? It’s my business,” I demanded.
“Do you think you have anorexia nervosa?” she asked.
“No. Of course not! I don’t.”
“She was denying it with me too,” Victoria said loudly, so everyone in the hall could
hear.
“You know, I have to call your parents. What’s your parent’s phone number? Actually I’ll
look it
up. I don’t trust you. Anorexics cannot be trusted. I have dealt with them before,”
I liked being grouped into the psycho category of anorexic yuppies. She’ll call my mom
or dad.
They’ll have to send me to group therapy, and I’d then learn to stick the end of a
toothbrush down my
sorry throat so I can induce vomiting.
“To tell you the truth, Mrs. Red, I haven’t noticed this weight loss. I was so active over
the
summer.” Lies. But I realized she knew I was lying, and that’s why I lied, so I’d be the
typical conniving
anorexic.
“Of course you don’t see it, hun.”
SHUT THE FUCK OFF WITH “HUN.” I’m not Mrs. Red’s “Hun,” I thought.
She went back into the glassed guidance office. Closed her door. Her fingers quickly
dialed a number.
“Do you think she’s anorexic?” my father asked.
“I don’t know. Go to a specialist. Call her doctor.”
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