Food

Tonight, band practice was... Okay it was crap. Total crap. Not because we sucked, but because Mr. Wittman was in a bad mood and so he was being stricter than usual. Of course we weren't really helping things.

Anyways, a few of us stayed after for a while talking to Miss Wittman, his daughter. She gives really motivational talks. I wish she was our band director. She just seems like more of a person than Mr. Wittman. She was telling us a bunch of stuff. It started out with just band things. She said her father was disappointed with the lack of caring. She said he loved us too much to quit on us. She said that the main reason he was so hard on us was because he's getting old and should retire soon and the thought of that scares him.


Then somehow she got on the topic of her ex-fiance. He broke up with her over text the day after proposing to her last fall. That one-ups my horror story :P She didn't eat for five weeks and was constantly throwing up because of how upset she was. She dropped down to eighty-two pounds. It got to the point where her students would bring her food and she would put it in her mouth, but spit it out when they weren't looking. And it really hit me hard. I'm so glad that it was dark out so no one could see how hard I was fighting back tears.

Because the way she was for those weeks? That's me. That's been me for over a year now, ever since a stupid comment during band camp last year. It was stupid, and it was from a guy who no longer means anything to me. And it probably wouldn't have affected most people. But I was so vulnerable, and I trusted him so much... I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it. But it got under my skin. I stopped eating as much as I should. I ate maybe two meals a week from mid-August until about February. Then once Clay moved in, it was about a meal a day because he'd make me. Now I'm about five foot six and as of three weeks ago I weighed ninety-eight pounds. That's not as bad as Miss Wittman. Not nearly as bad. Because I didn't go completely without food for more than a week at a time, and she also weighed less and we're about the same height. But my BMI? 15.8. Anything under 18.5 is considered underweight. I think it was Jake that finally pointed out to me how bad I'd gotten. I'm trying to get in at least two meals a day now. It's hard, though. I guess my stomach's just so used to not having food in it that it has a hard time making room for new stuff.

I always looked at the anorexic girls in movies and books and tv shows and wondered "how could they do that to themselves?" I know better now. It really is one of those "once you start, it's hard to stop" things. I don't think I count as anorexic. I don't show any of the outward signs other than being a little too thin. And I do eat. I eat more now than I did last year at this time. But it's really hard. It used to be that the compliments I cherished most were about my writing or my clarinet playing or my drawings or my academics. But now? "You're so light." "You're so thin." Those are the words that stick with me. And they shouldn't. The fact that it's so important to me scares me. I wish I could forget that comment. "With how much you eat it's no wonder I can't carry you." It was just a joke, a light jab. But it stuck like a thorn in my side I just can't shake.

I friended Miss Wittman on Facebook and sent her a message telling her I enjoyed her talk tonight. I think I'll work up to asking her how to get back to normal.


Song of the day: "On Love, In Sadness" by Jason Mraz ("you can have your pick if your stomach is sick, whether you eat or not")