The first time that I was teased for my weight, at least the first time that I remember that was hurtful, was 10th grade, more specifically the summer before.
I dont remember where I was walking to, maybe a friends house, or to school. I just remember I was walking down the street and heard a kid yell...
"Are you hungry? I've got the butter and you've got the rolls!"
At this age I was heavy, bigger than the majority of my friends for sure. However, I was not FAT. I am FAT now, but back then, I was just chubby. Id kill to be that chubby girl again. The one who wore a size 14. My mom has told me stories of how she would have to go buy maternity clothes (overalls specifically) and cut the tag out so I wouldn't know. All so that I could wear them like everyone else and fit in. I knew I was big, and I dressed frumpy and in baggy clothes, I had no idea what being confident was.
This one little smart ass remark from some kid, who was younger than me by the way, was the start of some major weight issues for me. It wasn't long after this comment that I started on a downward spiral of my teenage form of anorexia and bulemia. I would try not to eat much, or eat only a little. I would never make myself sick though. I instead found out the hard way that when you mentally tell yourself not to eat that eventually your body falls in line. I started having trouble swallowing food. I would try to eat and start to gag. Sometimes I would get sick because my body was turning against me and rejecting my actual attempts to eat. I was weak and depressed.
I was supposed to be in band camp at the end of summer. Nerdy, yes I know. We were going to be learning all of the field shows and the music to go along with it. It was hot that year, in the 90s and we were supposed to be outside for hours on end on the asphalt practicing the show routine. I remember nearly passing out a few times and being the kid that would sit out on the side. The band director called me out on multiple occasions and the rule was you had to do push ups for mistakes. Screw that. I could barely hold my head up let alone push my chubby body off the ground. I quit. I stopped showing up. He wouldn't take no for an answer though and actually sent a car full of band members to my house one day to pick me up and drag me to practice. It was miserable. I couldn't even memorize the music because I was so exhausted and weak I literally couldn't focus on it. After that incident my mom went to the school and told them that I had a right to quit the band and that I was doing so because of my failing health and that the teachers comments was not helping but actually furthering my depression. Needless to say there was a big clash ad I got released from band.
At one point after all of this happened I had my first suicidal thought. I remember sitting in the hallway of our house against the laundry room doors. I was home alone and the house was dark. I was thinking to myself that I could go take a lot of Tylenol and drink some of the vodka that my mom had under the kitchen sink. I instead called my best friend Tori and sat on the phone for hours with her and she made me realize how stupid I was being. She basically kicked me out of my funk and I continued high school. Looking back now this little secret I kept hidden was nothing compared to the trouble I was in for at the end of college.
I'll save the story for another post, but the short version is that after a tough breakup my last year in school I fell into some pretty bad habits and wound up basically forced to move home and ended up with an ER visit and threats to be put in treatment if I didn't start to eat. To think, it started with some lame joke about a dinner roll. Kids can be so cruel....
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