2001-06-25

More of the same ol'

Okay, bear with me today, chickens, as I have spent the better part of two days fuming about this.

I ask you: what is up with all of the weblogs and diaries written by girls who want to develop eating disorders?

It's one thing to chronicle a struggle with an eating disorder; it's another to create a weblog or journal, complete with guestbook, tracker, and link to Clix or some similar online popularity gauge, meticulously detailing calories consumed/expended and (in several cases) offering advice on how to waste away more effectively. It's not heartrending. It deserves no praise because its author is sooooo honest. It's misleading and it's dangerous, no matter how many caveats the writer puts out there: "I'm doing this for me. I don't want anyone's help." Fine. Then get rid of your trackers and guestbooks, and stop acting indignant when someone inevitably takes you to task for what you're doing to yourself. Stop trying to grow yourself a fan club under the guise of setting an example for others.

It's not that I'm insensitive or unsympathetic. I spent the better part of 15 years counting calories, popping pills, over-exercising and � when time and privacy allowed � ramming a toothbrush down the back of my throat to make myself throw up. And it's not my job to play Internet Watchdog, any more than it is anyone else's. I'm talking about taking control of your situation, and cultivating a better sense of personal responsibility.

When I first starting coming across these sites, I'd write to the diarist, trying to maintain some objectivity while offering my support, if she wanted it. Invariably I'd get a nasty response, essentially telling me to fuck off and mind my own business, that she knew what she was doing was bad but that it was her choice and if I didn't like what she had to say, then I shouldn't read her diary. So I don't write to these girls anymore, and I certainly don't sign their guestbooks, or make it a point to link to their journals from my own. Clearly they do want the attention, despite protestations to the contrary, but by and large they don't want to hear from some 30-year-old Size 12 who's finally learning to be comfortable in her own skin. That's understandable.

It's up to the individual to one day reverse the philosophy she's held so near and dear: I want more than anything to be thin because I am unhappy with my life. As with any other self-destructive behavior, finding your way out usually starts by flip-flopping the equation � when you sit down and think to yourself, "Maybe I am unhappy with my life because I want more than anything to be thin."

I once wanted more than anything to weigh 125 pounds, and when things didn't magically and universally improve when I got to 125 pounds, I decided that I'd finally be happy once I weighed 115 pounds. My hands shook, I walked around perpetually wired and paranoid, and I wore a Size 6.

I'm embarrassed to say that I deal with this. It's a stupid, pointless thing to have to deal with. I get angry with myself for allowing it to happen, that despite being raised to feel good about myself, I compare my ass to that of every woman I see on the street, on the bus, in the supermarket. It's a good day if I weigh under 140 pounds; if I weigh more than that, I skip lunch. It sucks, but at least I'm coming to realize that.

On a semi-related tangent: here's something that always makes me think about the social, class and racial issues that eating disorders conjure up. I was at the Limited one afternoon, trying on some skirts. Sharing the dressing room area with me were a pair of white girls and a pair of black girls. They were all trying on jeans. First I heard this from one of the white girls: "Jenna, do these make my butt look big?" Not a minute later, the dressing room door flew open and one of the black girls came out. She studied herself in the three-way mirror before informing her friend: "Damn. These stupid things make me look like I got no ass!"

True story.

lisamcc at 1:38 p.m.

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