This is Me in a Sad, Weird Little Nutshell

I was born a la vaginal birth one hot summer day ten minutes before my twin brother. I was a really smart baby, but also a total whiner. I wasn’t very cute, and I’m dead serious.

When I was five I almost died. I was in the hospital for a loooooong time and had two surgeries. Appendicitis turned into Peritonitis and it was a close call. So I made it, eventually, sans an appendix but with a gained a fear of the world. I knew that life could be taken from me at any time. I had no control. And it scared me.

Growing up was okay. I loved my twin brother, and we were together almost every minute it seemed. I had a few friends.

I really liked to play sports, especially basketball. I was always quite the tall one! Elementary school wasn’t all that bad (aside from my debilitating anxiety) until my 5th grade teacher died. She just didn’t come back after one weekend. We waited and waited in our classroom for what seemed like hours, until the principal told us what had happened. And then the new replacement teacher made me see the school therapist because I didn't seem to be "handling it well." I seriously always tried to be sick on the Thursday afternoons she'd come to get me.

Un-fun times.

Oh and then once in 6th grade during Middle Ages Week all the girls were paired up with a boy, and I was paired up with a deaf boy who was also mentally retarded. (What is the PC term for “retarded?” Is there one? I’m not trying to be crass or rude.) I remember that he had a huge crush on me, and at first I was angry that I couldn’t have fun and participate in all the activities like all the other boys and girls were. But then I remember Mrs. H pulled me aside and said she knew that I was the only girl who was kind enough to be with him who would treat him like a normal kid and not hurt or make fun of him. She seemed to think that I was kind and special, but I didn’t know why. I still don’t, to be honest. I remember when the week of festivities was over; he gave me a pink rock in the shape of a heart. We remained good friends after that.

Oooh. Also, one summer when I was ten I got beat up in a movie theater. So random, so funny. (At least it is now.)

Junior high was balls. Isn’t it for everyone? I was really depressed my 7th grade year and wore gross jeans and baggy hoodies all the time. My two best friends in elementary school were no longer really my friends. I didn’t really have anybody, at least, not at first. But I did have my English classes, which I excelled in. I always had the highest marks and eventually my teacher pulled me aside and told me she wanted me to go to the honors class. I readily agreed. I mean, what can I say? Junior high was full of not growing boobs but growing everything else. I went from a teeny little toothpick to a woman. (Well, a boob-less woman.) It was rough.

High school started better. I had my BFF, M, with me and we were next door neighbors and had a lot of fun with each other. I had my first “real” boyfriend then, and had fun hanging out with my friends and with Brett’s group of friends. I started modeling, and that’s also when my ED went from only thoughts to actually actions. By the time I was 17 I was full-on restricting and had an emaciated BMI. But nobody knew, not yet. Even I didn’t know I had a problem. I was just doing what I needed to do to model. It wasn’t a “disorder,” it was part of the job.

I was also nominated for prom queen which was THE.MOST.SURPRISING.THING.EVER. I still remember the shock when my name was announced. People liked me? People thought I was pretty? I was stunned. I still don’t get it.

Then my parents forced me into treatment before I was 18 and legally adult and could refuse it. I went in two months before I was to graduate from high school. Yeah, missed that rite of passage.

And then a miracle happened: someone loved me. Someone wanted to marry me.

But I relapsed and went back to treatment at 20. Adjusting to early marriage is hard.

And then because I’m a total reject and don’t learn from my mistakes, I started modeling again. I had so much fun in L.A., but it was still a bad, sucky idea.

I went to treatment again when I was 22. I had to leave my precious baby boy when he was only four months. I still tear up thinking about this.

But now I’m here. Recovering outpatient, drinking Boost, sometimes tubing it up, and loving writing Blogxygen and all my readers.

And the amazing thing is this: once I dared to shed just a little bit of ED off, I'm finding I like to do things other than starve and obsess about my weight. I like to sew. I might even be a bad-A seamstress. I like to be a clumsy, novice interior decorator. I LOVE being a mama: giving C his cereal and watching him try to use a spoon. Cuddling with him. Playing with his hair when he asks me to because I know he's sleepy and it makes him feel safe and calm. Loving my husband more than ED. Trying to love me. I'm learning, I'm progressing. And it's goooooood.

I’d like to think that if I were to write another short autobiography in time, it’ll only get better and better.
Hopefully because I’ll have repressed my entire junior high experiences into some deep crevasse in my brain I hope to never open again.

And that is me in a sad, weird little nutshell.

Any questions?