While I never did manage to master an eating disorder, I’m fairly certain mastery would have meant death, I did manage to dip below 140 for a while. I was barely 20, nearly two years after quitting college post unfortunate incident of my freshman year. I was living in St. Paul, Minnesota and living with my motorcycle-riding, long-haired, pierced, band playing boyfriend. I was waiting tables and working out during the day. I discovered ephedrine–which would wind me up and make it impossible to hold food down. And then alcohol, which would bring me back down.
It wasn’t long before my healthy size 10 was a size 8. And a bit later, became an unhealthy size 6. At 21 years old, I weighed 126…..perfection was 110. Remember? That’s what the doctors said. But at 126, my skin sagged, all my bones showed. 126 was not a good weight for me. I went from being heavy to protect myself to being light enough to carry. I remember writing a poem that started, “I want to be as small as a priceless china doll.” The goal was to be left alone because I’d break too easily. But, I never got that small. The way I felt and looked at 126 was enough for me to realize I was not meant to be tiny.
So, I didn’t master it. I came close. I chose to be me with chub and all. There are worse things than being fat. I’m quite certain being dead is one of them.