I remember the date my life turned upside down: Monday, May 25, 1992. It was the day Jay Leno officially took over The Tonight Show. That detail sticks with me.
On this date I began a six-and-a-half year struggle with anorexia. It was not due to an image issue but instead had everything to do with anxiety and a phobia of vomiting.
This is how it started.
It was early evening and I went for a jog down the gravel road. I stopped about a hundred yards into the jog with a weird feeling in my stomach. It felt bloated. It came on suddenly. My heart started racing and I became nervous. That happened with any stomach-related issue. I had/have a fear of throwing up.
I paced the rest of the night as the bloated feeling persisted. I was in a state of severe panic. Finally I drifted off to sleep. The damage was done.
A seed was planted in my mind. If you don’t want that bloated feeling, which my mind irrationally equated to a stomach full of food, don’t eat much. The seed took and blossomed.
At first it was OK. I weighed 173 pounds and losing some weight might help me. But the weight kept coming off as I ate almost nothing. By the end of 1992 I’d lost more than thirty pounds…and dropping.
Lack of nourishment caused other issues to sprout.
In addition, my anxiety level always was set to high. This anxiety brought on claustrophobia, some OCD, and I was depressed. Feeling pretty alone. I stopped eating in front of people or made excuses not to eat while others were eating.
All of these issues combined affected my schooling and grades. Sitting in classrooms, my anxiety was heightened and I had to watch where I sat—always on the edge in case a panic attack set in and I had to leave the room. Learning, then, became difficult as my attention was elsewhere.
And my social life? That suffered so much. Eating is an integral part of being with friends. With me making up so many excuses or simply opting out of hanging out with people, my social life was almost nonexistent. This deepened my depression. I was alone. Despite a few friends, I kept my little secret to myself.
I was oblivious to how serious my problems were impacting me. Once while walking through the Student Union, an acquaintance from San Diego saw me and made a pitying face and said, “You’re so skinny.” My response, “But my brain is intact.” I tapped my head. That couldn’t be further from the truth.
My issue finally hit me in 1998 during a doctor’s visit. The nurse weighed me. My weight? 116 pounds. I’m 5’9, so that’s not even close to healthy. Quiet shock set in. How?
I was emaciated. My biceps were as thick as my wrists. My jeans size got as low as a 28 waist. My eyes were sunken in their sockets. The shape of my ribs was visible. No fat whatsoever.
But the shock of 116 pounds did something to me. It charged me up. Rebuilding myself was a slow process. I forced myself to eat fruit, stop drinking sodas, drink water.
I had to fix the social aspect of my disease. I became friends with Jessica (Ramirez) Hibbitts. We started to have lunches together at the Student Union. I ate mostly sandwiches, but I was eating with someone. This did wonders for me. Jessica never knew how much those lunches and her company helped me.
I am healthy now, but the roots of that seed planted in my mind so long ago still stick with me. I never eat full meals but instead choose to eat smaller meals.
The mind is a powerful thing. Sometimes too powerful.
- Roel -
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