Posts from — November 2008

Because I think I crossed it…about 5 lbs ago.

For those of you curious about what it’s like to live in the South, all you need to do is spend a Thanksgiving with my family (whites only please). My holiday in a nutshell:

• Carbs and casseroles
• Racist Obama jokes
• Pro-slavery arguments
• More racist Obama jokes
• Have you seen my Confederate flag tattoo?
• The N***** word
• Pies, cakes and fudge
• More N****** word
• Guns and rifles
• Big trucks and tractor talk
• Racial stereotyping

I left that day certain that it’s surely worse to be black than it is anorexic.

Since I last weighed myself. That’s like an eon for someone’s whose scale is their best frenemy. Not to worry though. This doesn’t mean I’m cured. Just scared.

It’s probably best to just go ahead and give my thanks today. This year my thanks go to:

• Mom and Dad - for genetically predisposing me to mental illness and then creating an environment in which that genetic predisposition could flourish
• Anorexia - for helping me stay skinny in an increasingly fat world
• Zoloft - for keeping me on the sane side of crazy
• My husband – for turning a blind eye when needed
• Emaciated Lady – for being my partner in this madness and also for enabling me
• My pets – for frazzling my nerves daily

For the sake of humanity — or Random Anorexics, please refer to Thanksgiving only as Thanksgiving. Nothing is gayer than the phrase “Gobble Gobble.” It actually makes me homicidal.

I started to feel incredibly nauseous last night. My faith in God will be renewed if I get the stomach flu on Thanksgiving. An anorexic is thankful for every appetite-suppressing illness she gets.

I had an epiphany after a phone conversation with my monster mom yesterday. I’ve decided that my best bet for surviving this Thanksgiving is to become a drunkorexic for a day. Fuck the comfort food. I’m going straight for the sauce. And lots of it.

The way I see it, it’ll be kind of a win-win-win situation for me. Not only will I be able to partake of second, third and twelfth helpings, I’ll also be happily oblivious and perhaps, if I’m lucky, I’ll puke up all the calories.

Thanksgiving week for anorexics is arguably worse than any fraternity hazing or SEAL training. It represents the ultimate test of will, and mental preparation for this test requires at least a week. That week is hell. No, it’s worse than hell. It’s war, and the battle lines are drawn between those who will remain strong in the face of temptation and those who will not.

Those of us who have the will to stay strong – we’ll take pride in our suffering, denying ourselves even a single helping of mashed potatoes and corn bread while the rest of the fuckers around us help themselves to a fourth or fifth serving. We will look upon them with simultaneous envy and scorn, wishing we were them and thanking the heavens we’re not.

Those of us who are weak – we are the reluctant anorexics who resent our eating disorder. On Thanksgiving we’ll say, “What the hell? It’s only one day.” Then we’ll load up our plates so heavy that we strain what’s left of our sadly starved biceps. We’ll chow down like we’re normal, reveling in a few moments of bliss before the reality of “I just fucked myself” sets in.

Truth is, it’s a battle that no anorexic wins. All anorexics know that when Thanksgiving comes around, we’re all pretty much fucked.