Being a self proclaimed fashion whore (which is totally different from a label whore contrary to what most people believe), I have been obsessed with Rachel for as long as she has been styling LiLo and Nicole Richie. Before she had her show, her Piperlime picks, and even her own clothing line. I loved her even when Perez Hilton referred to her as Raisin Face. In my best Rachel impression, I was "Ub-sessed." Her celebrities were always styled in a way that was classy and innovative. She had my dream job. She was living my life-- to an extent. I can't help but be jealous of anyone who has had a private tour of CoCo Chanel's apartment above the flagship store in Paris. The assholes around me who think it's about the name and status, can't see beyond their own jealously. It's the style. Chanel says it all. Not because of anything but it stands for timelessness and Karl Lagerfeld does what he can to continue that dream... but enough of CoCo and Karl. This blog isn't about them.
Styling celebrities is a dream I've always had. I have longed to be in the fashion industry in one way or another-- but definitely in a hands on way. As Rachel became more famous, I became more intrigued. I began to emulate some of her style and then when her OWN fashion line came out, and was affordable, I wet myself. Seeing as though I'm "petite" her clothes fit me rather perfectly. Even length wise. Over time, she's become more than a fashion icon to me but a role model, and not in the "successful built my business from the ground up" sort of way but the, I want to look like that way.
Have you seen Rachel? She's not what someone may consider to be healthy. I watch her reality show and I NEVER see her eat and the only thing I ever see her with is the largest Starbucks possible in her hand (sound familiar). Recently she was pregnant and the cameras were following her. She ate on camera and had a healthy pregnancy, even at 38 years old, so the question of having an eating disorder is still on the fence. That being said, I had a very good pregnancy and ate anything and everything I could get my hands on.
But now, I look in the mirror and aside from the hair color, I could be her. Speaking from the perception of others and not myself, I'm little. Beyond little. I recently had the stomach flu which is pretty much the last thing I needed in addition to my eating disorder. I restrict food to begin with -- but to an extent. I never go hours and hours without eating. In this case, I had no choice as I couldn't even keep water down. But, I digress..... I like the way that I look sometimes. I'm enjoying my thighs not touching, if I can be honest. Bad, I know. Very bad.
I look at Rachel and over the years there has been constant speculation that she's anorexic and I'm 90% sure she is. Even before I was so far deep into my addiction I thought so. People talk shit about her weight all the time and she either blows it off or she doesn't. Based on what I see/read, it sort of depends on what's said and who says it. Today, I walked into work in my 00-7 jeans and got looks to kill. I'm not sure if it was the jeans or extraneous nonsense that has been going on in this office for months but I have a feeling the jeans caused the looks of contempt, anger and ignorant judgment. It was my Rachel Zoe moment.
clearly I look in the mirror before I leave the house everyday but looking in a mirror does nothing for me. My mirror is truly the reflection of myself in other people's eyes. Rachel seems OK. So, maybe I'm OK? It's clearly no coincidence that I've had a cold, bronchitis and the stomach flu all within 6 weeks. My immune system has weakened. I'm going to work on that though and take a vitamin. That should do something. Maybe a bottle of Ensure once in a while? I don't know.
I adore Rachel. I really do but I'm starting to think she's a trigger. I've transformed myself into her. I wonder in the back of my mind how big she really is. Personally, I think if we were standing side by side, she'd be smaller than me but given that my waist is 24 inches, I don't know. I certainly don't have an honest perspective of myself. My question is, will I ever?
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Monday
As my husband loves to say, I have a lot of noise in my head. I don't think there is a better way to describe someone who has anxiety issues because it's true, my mind is racing at all times. It just more or less depends on how fast its racing. What I do know is this: when I need to write, I need to write. No matter what I am doing needs to stop and I have to sit down and type. This can be challenging when you're a working full time mom but I try to grab on to it when I can.
Every day, a close friend and I say to one another "Today is going to be a good day." She and I both have had somewhat challenging times in the last couple of years and we decided that we need to be more positive. Believe it or not, it does work. The whole giving off positive energy can really bring positive energy back to you. The repetition of this mantra works but.... not everything works all the time.
Today is not a good day for me-- mentally. I'm feeling uneasy, tired, weak, anxious, sad and lonely. I know this all stems from shopping for jeans the other day. I addition to the fact that too much time alone with myself is always a bad thing. I think way too much and look for distraction. I was able to do that today, not with work but in other ways. My husband has been away on business for a few days and is pretty much on his way home from the airport as I type. I truly can't wait to see him.... I need to see him--- I missed him so much and he was gone for such a short time. Yet, at the same time, I'm excited he's home because all I can think about it going to bed and forgetting the day. When he gets home, I just want to get in bed and be left alone-- which is a contradiction, I know.
I'm either on the verge of a nervous breakdown, again or just hitting a bump in the road. I won't know until I'm sorted out. Since he was away, I didn't take all of my medication because it interferes with me being 100% and I needed to be 100% for my daughter. I can't drive on most of my medication and refuse to take the chance of being on it and an emergency happens. I never take my medication without telling my husband I've taken it, what I've taken and know that he is going to be there. As a mother, I can't be alone with her on my meds. That's the decision I have made as a parent-- good or bad.
So this need.... this desire.... this feeling of jumping out of my skin could be from a combination of all of this. But right now, what I want more than anything is to go to bed. Get under the covers and not wake up until tomorrow in the hopes that it's a better day. There are days I can't deal --- with anything and today is one of them. Right now I am totally stream of consciousness writing and may not be making any sense but I wonder if there is a way to make sense of this.
This emotional roller coaster I'm on reminds me of those times I would get the urge to just sit in the closet floor. Not my walk in closet, but an actual closet. It never made sense to me why I needed to do it but for some reason, I felt safe and happy sitting on a closet floor in a small space. Even that sounds better to me right now than being awake and dealing with my thoughts. Clearly the eating disorder is out of control. It's not like I'm blowing the lid off an exclusive story. I'm anorexic. It's really bad. I can't stop. Pretty much that's it in a nutshell. I'm not blind to it--- I see it. I don't need to be constantly reminded of it.
Again, today I've had nothing but coffee which is know is fucking stupid. Everyone says, "You can eat, you just choose not to." That's starting to really grate on my nerves but that's not the case at all. I know my husband is going to be pissed and I know that the friends I have who read this are going to be pissed and I know my therapist is going to tell me I need to go away to get help. I'll eat dinner-- I always do. It's just the other 23 hours of the day that I don't eat. A huge problem I'm having is its becoming physically difficult to work. Some days I'm on fire and get shit done and shine like a star but other days, like today, I get stuck. It's interfering with my ability told hold down a job but based on my reviews, I'm fooling everyone.
Wait-- the best way to describe how I feel right now is this: (some of you may or may not get this reference but here goes...). One of the best movies Tom Hanks has ever made is The Money Pit. The movie is about a couple renovating a home and essentially keep throwing good money away to turn this disaster into their dream house. My all time favorite scene is when Tom Hanks is walking through the house, in the dark looking for his girlfriend, and sinks into a huge hole in the floor covered by a Persian rug. He sinks so far down that all you can see is his head and his hands. He can't move at all and is stuck there until his girlfriend finally comes home and pull him out. Obviously, what makes this funny is mostly the one liners Tom throws out since the actual scene I just described doesn't sound nearly as funny as it is. My long winded point is--- I feel like I'm stuck in a hole waiting for someone to pull me out.
I'm tired. I can't fight this anymore. I don't have the strength or the will in me to try. Telling me I'm going to die should be enough. Telling me to do it for my daughter should be enough. Again, I'm having a really rough day and there could be a million reasons why today is how it is because in all honesty, it's not like this every day.
One of the reasons I love this blog is it allows me to unload without burdening anyone else with my problems. I know they are tired of hearing about it-- even though they say they aren't. And really, they have their own lives to life and problems to deal with that the anorexic friend becomes more of an annoyance than anything else. My intentions have been to limit my discussions of the eating disorder in order not to place stress on anyone, but I may be way off. I could be talking about it to the point that they want me to stop and I can't see it. Even though, I still want to go upstairs and sleep, I at least know I didn't bore anyone with my venting of frustration. By the time one of my friends has the time to sit and read this, I'll be out of the funk I'm in.... I won't be better but I'll be having a better day and will get through the day by myself.
Every day, a close friend and I say to one another "Today is going to be a good day." She and I both have had somewhat challenging times in the last couple of years and we decided that we need to be more positive. Believe it or not, it does work. The whole giving off positive energy can really bring positive energy back to you. The repetition of this mantra works but.... not everything works all the time.
Today is not a good day for me-- mentally. I'm feeling uneasy, tired, weak, anxious, sad and lonely. I know this all stems from shopping for jeans the other day. I addition to the fact that too much time alone with myself is always a bad thing. I think way too much and look for distraction. I was able to do that today, not with work but in other ways. My husband has been away on business for a few days and is pretty much on his way home from the airport as I type. I truly can't wait to see him.... I need to see him--- I missed him so much and he was gone for such a short time. Yet, at the same time, I'm excited he's home because all I can think about it going to bed and forgetting the day. When he gets home, I just want to get in bed and be left alone-- which is a contradiction, I know.
I'm either on the verge of a nervous breakdown, again or just hitting a bump in the road. I won't know until I'm sorted out. Since he was away, I didn't take all of my medication because it interferes with me being 100% and I needed to be 100% for my daughter. I can't drive on most of my medication and refuse to take the chance of being on it and an emergency happens. I never take my medication without telling my husband I've taken it, what I've taken and know that he is going to be there. As a mother, I can't be alone with her on my meds. That's the decision I have made as a parent-- good or bad.
So this need.... this desire.... this feeling of jumping out of my skin could be from a combination of all of this. But right now, what I want more than anything is to go to bed. Get under the covers and not wake up until tomorrow in the hopes that it's a better day. There are days I can't deal --- with anything and today is one of them. Right now I am totally stream of consciousness writing and may not be making any sense but I wonder if there is a way to make sense of this.
This emotional roller coaster I'm on reminds me of those times I would get the urge to just sit in the closet floor. Not my walk in closet, but an actual closet. It never made sense to me why I needed to do it but for some reason, I felt safe and happy sitting on a closet floor in a small space. Even that sounds better to me right now than being awake and dealing with my thoughts. Clearly the eating disorder is out of control. It's not like I'm blowing the lid off an exclusive story. I'm anorexic. It's really bad. I can't stop. Pretty much that's it in a nutshell. I'm not blind to it--- I see it. I don't need to be constantly reminded of it.
Again, today I've had nothing but coffee which is know is fucking stupid. Everyone says, "You can eat, you just choose not to." That's starting to really grate on my nerves but that's not the case at all. I know my husband is going to be pissed and I know that the friends I have who read this are going to be pissed and I know my therapist is going to tell me I need to go away to get help. I'll eat dinner-- I always do. It's just the other 23 hours of the day that I don't eat. A huge problem I'm having is its becoming physically difficult to work. Some days I'm on fire and get shit done and shine like a star but other days, like today, I get stuck. It's interfering with my ability told hold down a job but based on my reviews, I'm fooling everyone.
Wait-- the best way to describe how I feel right now is this: (some of you may or may not get this reference but here goes...). One of the best movies Tom Hanks has ever made is The Money Pit. The movie is about a couple renovating a home and essentially keep throwing good money away to turn this disaster into their dream house. My all time favorite scene is when Tom Hanks is walking through the house, in the dark looking for his girlfriend, and sinks into a huge hole in the floor covered by a Persian rug. He sinks so far down that all you can see is his head and his hands. He can't move at all and is stuck there until his girlfriend finally comes home and pull him out. Obviously, what makes this funny is mostly the one liners Tom throws out since the actual scene I just described doesn't sound nearly as funny as it is. My long winded point is--- I feel like I'm stuck in a hole waiting for someone to pull me out.
I'm tired. I can't fight this anymore. I don't have the strength or the will in me to try. Telling me I'm going to die should be enough. Telling me to do it for my daughter should be enough. Again, I'm having a really rough day and there could be a million reasons why today is how it is because in all honesty, it's not like this every day.
One of the reasons I love this blog is it allows me to unload without burdening anyone else with my problems. I know they are tired of hearing about it-- even though they say they aren't. And really, they have their own lives to life and problems to deal with that the anorexic friend becomes more of an annoyance than anything else. My intentions have been to limit my discussions of the eating disorder in order not to place stress on anyone, but I may be way off. I could be talking about it to the point that they want me to stop and I can't see it. Even though, I still want to go upstairs and sleep, I at least know I didn't bore anyone with my venting of frustration. By the time one of my friends has the time to sit and read this, I'll be out of the funk I'm in.... I won't be better but I'll be having a better day and will get through the day by myself.
Monday, February 6, 2012
People are Assholes.... and Let Me Tell You Why
Speechless. Not a word that's used to describe me- ever. I not only have an answer for everything but I also have to get the last word in all the time. Some may say it's a spoiled brat thing, I say it's an only child thing. Although I may not actually be speechless, I am completely numb from the ignorance and outright cruelty of those around me. Let me first say, there are some AMAZING people in my life who I know would move the sun and the moon to help me get better right now. Even though I've probably bored them to tears with listening to me over and over and over again, they still remain a constant. Probably unknowingly to them, I've actually pulled back and talked about my anorexia less because I feel as though I'm burdening them with my problems. It's funny because, in my mind I've pulled back whereas they may be thinking, "Is this bitch ever going to shut the fuck up and get help? I can't listen to this nonsense anymore." Well, it's funny to me, porbably not so much to them.
The truth is, I'm struggling with an eating disorder for the SECOND time in my life. There is no doubt that the second time around is much more intense..... scarier.... and lonelier. I've overheard conversations that my anorexia is "attention seeking behavior:. Me just being a diva looking to be in the spot light. Writing those words make me feel like bursting into tears. NO ONE and I mean NO ONE understands this is an addiction unless they have gone through it themselves. Bottom line? I'm sick. I know I am and I don't know how to get better. The ignorance around me is by far, mind blowing. There is gossip, whispers and speculation which drives me insane. Am I ashamed? Of course I am. Does talking about me behind my back make it worse? 1000%. Should I give a shit? No. But I do. Since my stint in "rehab" life has become difficult to say the least. I have, without a doubt, learned who my real friends are, but not only that, I've learned that when you least expect it, someone in your life surprises you....
In the beginning, this blog started out as a cathartic way to express my feelings about my mom being sick and along the way, it's clearly taken a different turn. When it was more about my mom's illness, the blog was much more sacred and private and few knew of it. Now that I'm writing more about my anorexia, I'm sharing it--- not by posting it on social networks but by writing down the web address with good old fashioned paper and pen for someone. I've given this site out to many people and I really only know of a handful that read this religiously. To the point where they ask me when the next blog is coming :).
People I thought cared about me and had my best interest at heart, don't. Instead, they gossip, whisper and speculate. At a time when I crave support the most, I have been let down. But, then there are the good surprises too. People I may not talk to everyday or haven't seen in years or live hundreds, even thousands of miles away will make a gesture that chips the ice off my heart just a little more. They don't realize it, but sometimes getting that look or an email or even a simple silent "I got your back" restores your faith in the human race. There are days when I don't think I can feel much lower then I do and one of these little surprises pops up and it saves me from myself.
As cynical as I am, I'm happy to see a kindness come from those who may not get it, but instead they get you. And like the others in your life who truly love you, they genuinely want to see you get better. For a person struggling with an eating disorder, that may be all you need. It goes without saying that I have certain people in my life who worry about me every single day. What I eat and when I eat matters to them but given the nature of our relationship, I expect it (and yes, I know I shouldn't expect anything from anyone).
Being let down by people you thought gave a shit hurts. It makes you want to shut yourself off from the world. Like the 00 jeans--- after that I wanted nothing more to go to bed and sleep for a 100 years. Knowing people are gossiping about you.... knowing people have a misconceived perception of you.... knowing all this hurts. My husband tells me some of it is my own fault. I make jokes and say things that people take seriously, even though it's my dark twisted humor. I'm not a functioning alcoholic and I'm not addicted to prescriton drugs but I seem to be the butt of those jokes in some circles. Sometimes it bothers me but other times I could give a fuck. I strongly believe that you can say .anything to anyone but it's the WAY you say it that makes it hurt.
It makes my husband shudder when I say most of what I say, but I guess my line of thinking is if I reallty were a drug addict or an alcoholic I wouldn't say the things I saw. A great example is, I never joke about my anorexia--- and if I do, it's around my husband or a close friend. A person I know is loyal to me and to this friendship.
I've been writing this blog for nearly a year and a half and some of the most important people to me don't read it. Then there are those who do read this blog and use it as fodder for their gossip. I could mention names, even though I never do, because the people I'm talking about in this blog entry are either a) not reading it or b) know exactly who they are. And to those people I say: I see you, I hear you and what you say really does matter.
An Eating Disorder is an addiction and it's powerful. Just as powerful as drugs and alcohol. If I was addicted to heroin, you wouldn't gossip about it. If you were born with a heart and I mattered, you would come and try to talk to me. You would try to help me. I am not angel when it comes to words-- believe me. I know I have said shit about people that is pure evil--- and what I can say to that is, well, karma is a bitch. Yet, at the same time, the Italian in me immediately is charged up with respect loyalty. I respect my friends and my family. I'm loyal -- to a fault. It's wrong but I hold everyone up to those standards, only to be consistently let down.
People are assholes. Plain and simple.
The truth is, I'm struggling with an eating disorder for the SECOND time in my life. There is no doubt that the second time around is much more intense..... scarier.... and lonelier. I've overheard conversations that my anorexia is "attention seeking behavior:. Me just being a diva looking to be in the spot light. Writing those words make me feel like bursting into tears. NO ONE and I mean NO ONE understands this is an addiction unless they have gone through it themselves. Bottom line? I'm sick. I know I am and I don't know how to get better. The ignorance around me is by far, mind blowing. There is gossip, whispers and speculation which drives me insane. Am I ashamed? Of course I am. Does talking about me behind my back make it worse? 1000%. Should I give a shit? No. But I do. Since my stint in "rehab" life has become difficult to say the least. I have, without a doubt, learned who my real friends are, but not only that, I've learned that when you least expect it, someone in your life surprises you....
In the beginning, this blog started out as a cathartic way to express my feelings about my mom being sick and along the way, it's clearly taken a different turn. When it was more about my mom's illness, the blog was much more sacred and private and few knew of it. Now that I'm writing more about my anorexia, I'm sharing it--- not by posting it on social networks but by writing down the web address with good old fashioned paper and pen for someone. I've given this site out to many people and I really only know of a handful that read this religiously. To the point where they ask me when the next blog is coming :).
People I thought cared about me and had my best interest at heart, don't. Instead, they gossip, whisper and speculate. At a time when I crave support the most, I have been let down. But, then there are the good surprises too. People I may not talk to everyday or haven't seen in years or live hundreds, even thousands of miles away will make a gesture that chips the ice off my heart just a little more. They don't realize it, but sometimes getting that look or an email or even a simple silent "I got your back" restores your faith in the human race. There are days when I don't think I can feel much lower then I do and one of these little surprises pops up and it saves me from myself.
As cynical as I am, I'm happy to see a kindness come from those who may not get it, but instead they get you. And like the others in your life who truly love you, they genuinely want to see you get better. For a person struggling with an eating disorder, that may be all you need. It goes without saying that I have certain people in my life who worry about me every single day. What I eat and when I eat matters to them but given the nature of our relationship, I expect it (and yes, I know I shouldn't expect anything from anyone).
Being let down by people you thought gave a shit hurts. It makes you want to shut yourself off from the world. Like the 00 jeans--- after that I wanted nothing more to go to bed and sleep for a 100 years. Knowing people are gossiping about you.... knowing people have a misconceived perception of you.... knowing all this hurts. My husband tells me some of it is my own fault. I make jokes and say things that people take seriously, even though it's my dark twisted humor. I'm not a functioning alcoholic and I'm not addicted to prescriton drugs but I seem to be the butt of those jokes in some circles. Sometimes it bothers me but other times I could give a fuck. I strongly believe that you can say .anything to anyone but it's the WAY you say it that makes it hurt.
It makes my husband shudder when I say most of what I say, but I guess my line of thinking is if I reallty were a drug addict or an alcoholic I wouldn't say the things I saw. A great example is, I never joke about my anorexia--- and if I do, it's around my husband or a close friend. A person I know is loyal to me and to this friendship.
I've been writing this blog for nearly a year and a half and some of the most important people to me don't read it. Then there are those who do read this blog and use it as fodder for their gossip. I could mention names, even though I never do, because the people I'm talking about in this blog entry are either a) not reading it or b) know exactly who they are. And to those people I say: I see you, I hear you and what you say really does matter.
An Eating Disorder is an addiction and it's powerful. Just as powerful as drugs and alcohol. If I was addicted to heroin, you wouldn't gossip about it. If you were born with a heart and I mattered, you would come and try to talk to me. You would try to help me. I am not angel when it comes to words-- believe me. I know I have said shit about people that is pure evil--- and what I can say to that is, well, karma is a bitch. Yet, at the same time, the Italian in me immediately is charged up with respect loyalty. I respect my friends and my family. I'm loyal -- to a fault. It's wrong but I hold everyone up to those standards, only to be consistently let down.
People are assholes. Plain and simple.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
00 Minus the 7
You know those bumper stickers that say, "I'd rather be golfing" or "I'd rather be fishing"? Mine would definitely say "I'd rather be shopping." Anyone who know me, even just as an acquaintance knows how much I love to shop. Well, today shopping officially turned into a nightmare for me. A complete nightmare.
I haven't bought jeans in quite some time-- no, I'm serious. I decided when I lost weight just to buy a few pairs of every day type jeans. Prior to the anorexia, I had at least 20 pairs of jeans-- boot cut, wide leg, dark wash, regular wash, etc. A few days ago, I was getting dressed to take my daughter to a birthday party and was planning on wearing jeans. A couple of my newer pairs of jeans were either dirty or didn't "have the look" I was going for that day. I wanted to wear a pair of boot cut, dark blue jeans and I didn't have a pair. This is when the madness began to set in.... Given that I have all these jeans I thought at least one of the pairs I have that fit this description would fit. ...wrong. Nearly 11 pairs later, I realized none of my jeans fit me. OK, well, time to go shopping then.
Online shopping is actually my favorite. The excitement of coming home from work and seeing a box on the front steps is like Christmas morning to me. Certain stores I can buy without trying on because I've been shopping there so long. During a lull at work this week, I perused the Banana Republic website and found the exact pair of jeans I was looking for. Fantastic. Now, the last couple of pairs I bought were not huge on me but they could have fit better so I decided to go down at least a size. I checked out the handy dandy size chart and saw waist sizes and their numbered size counterpart. The last pair of jeans I bought were a 25 inch waist and thought, I could use the 24. And there it was 24 inches = 00. No fucking way. There is no fucking way I fit in a double zero. I was in shock and started to get anxious so I stopped the shopping immediately. This had to be wrong and I clearly was going to need to try on the jeans.
Like I said, I don't really know what I way (...sort of) but decided I had to check out this 00 bullshit out for myself. I went shopping. In the car ride over, I thought about all the things I ate today. That took about .0006 seconds. I hadn't eaten anything. Per usual, I had my coffee with an extra shot of espresso (or as I call it, breakfast and lunch) in my hand and walked my way into The Gap. I perused the merchandise, found exactly what I was looking for and pulled the size 2 off the shelf. A kind sales person let me into the changing room where I tried I jeans that were too big. Um, OK so I guess I try the zero. Moments later, she knocked on the door to ask how I was doing and I asked her for the 0. I asked in the lowest voice above a whisper--- as though I was asking for a size 26.
She returned with the 0. I sat on the bench, put one leg in each side and began to get knots in my stomach. I couldn't bear the thought of standing up and buttoning them. Fuck me. These were too big. This wasn't happening to me. I literally started to feel like Lily Tomlin in The Incredible Shrinking woman. After some time, the same patient sales person returned and asked how I was making out. I told her,"Oh not so great. These didn't fit either." I was waiting for her to suggest I go next door to Gap Kids but instead she said, "Well, they come in a 00." Of course they fucking do.
While I waited for the 00's to arrive, I sat there thinking I bet it's the cut of the jeans that runs big or maybe they were jeggings but finally came to terms with the concept that it doesn't matter if the 00 jeans are a 10 in another store or 6 in that store, they were 00. Period. When she handed me the jeans, I tried them on quickly. They fit perfect. I looked at myself in the mirror and thought "wow, I have really big hips." Then I noticed my thighs weren't touching. MY FUCKING THIGHS DON'T TOUCH. Most women's dream was my nightmare. I began to cry. This wasn't right. In fact, it's really bad.
I got dressed, bought the jeans and ran out of the store. I got in my car as fast as I could. Sat down and threw up by the side of the car in the parking lot. It was my anxiety. Fortunately, I got sick instead of having a panic attack (yes, believe me this is so much better). Even though there was a possibility I was a 00, I never knew for sure 100% until now. I used to see the size in the store and think, "who the fuck fits into those pants?" Now I know the answer to that question.... and it's scary. What's even scarier? I still thought I looked fat in the jeans.
I haven't bought jeans in quite some time-- no, I'm serious. I decided when I lost weight just to buy a few pairs of every day type jeans. Prior to the anorexia, I had at least 20 pairs of jeans-- boot cut, wide leg, dark wash, regular wash, etc. A few days ago, I was getting dressed to take my daughter to a birthday party and was planning on wearing jeans. A couple of my newer pairs of jeans were either dirty or didn't "have the look" I was going for that day. I wanted to wear a pair of boot cut, dark blue jeans and I didn't have a pair. This is when the madness began to set in.... Given that I have all these jeans I thought at least one of the pairs I have that fit this description would fit. ...wrong. Nearly 11 pairs later, I realized none of my jeans fit me. OK, well, time to go shopping then.
Online shopping is actually my favorite. The excitement of coming home from work and seeing a box on the front steps is like Christmas morning to me. Certain stores I can buy without trying on because I've been shopping there so long. During a lull at work this week, I perused the Banana Republic website and found the exact pair of jeans I was looking for. Fantastic. Now, the last couple of pairs I bought were not huge on me but they could have fit better so I decided to go down at least a size. I checked out the handy dandy size chart and saw waist sizes and their numbered size counterpart. The last pair of jeans I bought were a 25 inch waist and thought, I could use the 24. And there it was 24 inches = 00. No fucking way. There is no fucking way I fit in a double zero. I was in shock and started to get anxious so I stopped the shopping immediately. This had to be wrong and I clearly was going to need to try on the jeans.
Like I said, I don't really know what I way (...sort of) but decided I had to check out this 00 bullshit out for myself. I went shopping. In the car ride over, I thought about all the things I ate today. That took about .0006 seconds. I hadn't eaten anything. Per usual, I had my coffee with an extra shot of espresso (or as I call it, breakfast and lunch) in my hand and walked my way into The Gap. I perused the merchandise, found exactly what I was looking for and pulled the size 2 off the shelf. A kind sales person let me into the changing room where I tried I jeans that were too big. Um, OK so I guess I try the zero. Moments later, she knocked on the door to ask how I was doing and I asked her for the 0. I asked in the lowest voice above a whisper--- as though I was asking for a size 26.
She returned with the 0. I sat on the bench, put one leg in each side and began to get knots in my stomach. I couldn't bear the thought of standing up and buttoning them. Fuck me. These were too big. This wasn't happening to me. I literally started to feel like Lily Tomlin in The Incredible Shrinking woman. After some time, the same patient sales person returned and asked how I was making out. I told her,"Oh not so great. These didn't fit either." I was waiting for her to suggest I go next door to Gap Kids but instead she said, "Well, they come in a 00." Of course they fucking do.
While I waited for the 00's to arrive, I sat there thinking I bet it's the cut of the jeans that runs big or maybe they were jeggings but finally came to terms with the concept that it doesn't matter if the 00 jeans are a 10 in another store or 6 in that store, they were 00. Period. When she handed me the jeans, I tried them on quickly. They fit perfect. I looked at myself in the mirror and thought "wow, I have really big hips." Then I noticed my thighs weren't touching. MY FUCKING THIGHS DON'T TOUCH. Most women's dream was my nightmare. I began to cry. This wasn't right. In fact, it's really bad.
I got dressed, bought the jeans and ran out of the store. I got in my car as fast as I could. Sat down and threw up by the side of the car in the parking lot. It was my anxiety. Fortunately, I got sick instead of having a panic attack (yes, believe me this is so much better). Even though there was a possibility I was a 00, I never knew for sure 100% until now. I used to see the size in the store and think, "who the fuck fits into those pants?" Now I know the answer to that question.... and it's scary. What's even scarier? I still thought I looked fat in the jeans.
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