Tuesday, March 27, 2007

I'm Ok, You're Ok.

I used to be one of those annoying, body dysmorphic, eating-disordered girls. You know the ones I speak of. The girls who are way too skinny, who go from starving themselves one day to bingeing on an entire Entenmann’s cake the next. I was obsessed with the way I looked, and would say things to people such as “I’m soooooo fat” knowing full well that I was nowhere near fat, and just needing to hear all of my enablers tell me so.

Today, I am far from too skinny. I am quite zaftig, actually, but proud of my curves. Through years of intense therapy, I have, for the most part, ridden myself of the body issues that have plagued me for years.

And then, I come across one of “those” girls. And I want to punch someone in the face.

I have a friend who is very, very tall. And very, very skinny. She is someone who can eat pretty much whatever she wants, and is naturally athletic and fit. It’s not a secret. We can see, with our own eyes, how good she looks. People tell her all the time how they wish they looked like her. Yet, somehow, this is not good enough.

I will see her after a weekend, in her skinny jeans, and hear about how she engorged herself for the last three days. Too much beer, too many chicken wings. How FAT she must be from such a bacchanal. She points out her non-existent muffin top. “Oh ____, you look great,” we say, in unison, on cue.

One time, during a shopping spree (stupid, stupid me, allowing myself to accompany her. I should have known better. Cheese gets a spanking for that.) she kept picking things out for me that she thought would look good. I know she meant well, but it was horrifying for me to have to admit that the sizes she was picking up, as well as the styles she was throwing my way, were never going to fit me. Maybe I’M the one that’s body dysmorphic, but I just couldn’t help feeling that she was trying to make herself feel better by hearing me admit the bigger size that I actually wear. Hi, paranoid much? ;)

The last conversation we had, she regaled me with tales of a wedding that she attended over the weekend. She spent all of her time stuffing her face, it seems (the usual). But this time, it was ok. Because at the wedding, someone told her that she looked like she could use a cheeseburger. What fun! Someone thought she was so skinny, that she needed to eat! Isn’t that hysterical? So, in response to this, my friend went out and gorged herself all weekend, since some stranger at a wedding told her that she could!

I know, I know, I’m a jealous, issued bitch. At least I own it.

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