In his book, “A Dictionary of Thoughts,” Tyron Edwards succinctly said that “Right actions in the future are the best apologies for bad actions in the past.” However, this much easier said than accomplished.
There comes a point at which, after one has made enough bad decisions in succession, that even past supporters come to expect more of the same. This often causes shame, may bring on cyclical behavior, and places undue focus on past mistakes.
After having made a big enough mess, one must decide –alone– that they will ignore these expectations and dutifully begin the long and arduous process of picking things up.
Filed under: autobiography, writing | Tags: depression, DUI, eating disorders, emotions, telemarketing, wieght gain
Over the past few weeks, I’ve been relating my life-long struggle with my weight and eating habits. In “The Younger Years” I shared my life as a fat child and teen. In “Losing Weight the Wrong Way,” I shared an unhealthy weight loss of 120lbs. within the span of 4 months. In “The Wieght Crept Back and Brought Friends,” I shared the beginnings of bulimic, addictive, and other self-destructive behaviors. In this installment, I’ll share the emotional unraveling in my early twenties that led the scale to read over 200 once again.
First, let me explain the delay between posts: It is always easier to write and reflect on the distant past than more recent events. It is also difficult to decide exactly what bits to share without getting too far off topic. Let’s just say that my early 20s may have tied or even surpassed my childhood for most tumultuous period in my life. For the sake of brevity, I’ve left quite a lot out.
It is worth noting that when I was 19, more information about what caused my mother’s condition came to my attention at the wedding of a family member. When I learned, I reacted poorly…an explosion caused by years of bottled mistrust as more and more details about my mother’s condition came to light. Although I didn’t think about it when acting out, I believe this may well have been a contributing factor to my erratic behavior.
Anyhow, when I left off, I had just moved into an apartment graciously paid for by my aunt and godmother. My grandpa gifted me my great grandma’s 1988 Pontiac Catalina. All I had to do was get to school and stay out of trouble.

Here’s a photo of me and the mess I regularly created in said apartment. At the time I weighed between 180 and 190lbs.
I managed until about 6 months after I turned 21. I was still in poor shape emotionally. I mentally beat myself multiple times a day. I was still binging, desperately seeking input: looking for something external that would make everything O.K. again. In addition to old habits (like eating a quart of ice-cream over two sittings), I also drank most nights, often to excess, and took anything else I might be offered. Through this, I kept reasonable grades, but nothing near my previous standard. I maintained a weight of about 180-190 despite my increased intake of junk-food via purging and frequent long walks. Despite being surrounded by friends, I was too busy being ashamed of myself to talk about any of my feelings and worked hard to deny I even had them.
When my best friend at the time told me he was moving away at the semester’s end, I decided to wallow in my self-pity with six 24 oz beers at a small gathering of friends and acquaintances. Long story short, I drank so much that I blacked out. My friends attempted to hide my keys from me, but since the Catalina had been stolen while I was in jail, it could be started with a screwdriver. The resultant drive led to a DUI that ultimately landed me a year andhalf of probation.
This year andhalf deserves its own post, but suffice to say that I ultimately ended up seeing therapists, leaving school, living in an oxford house, and working a soul-crushing job as an outbound telemarketer. I could seriously go on for hours about the crappy practices of both management and employees at this place.
The combination of sobriety, a terrible paying yet high-stress job, and the household drama resulted in a lot of binge-eating on my part. I remember regarding my legs as I laid in bed one night before sleep. Despite my weight, up until that point I’d always had clearly defined quadriceps which kept my legs looking nice even if they were thick and had some cellulite. I had been avoiding scales, but that night I noticed that my cellulite had begun to grow over my quadriceps. In that moment, I decided to give up on attempting to control my eating habits.

Although it’s well-disguised in a black hoody and a crouched position, I weighed in just shy of 210lbs at the time of the photo.
Giving up had one good consequence. I quit purging after binges. However, it also had the consequence that I could no longer fit into most of my wardrobe. I felt like a rhinoceros. I put only minimal effort into my appearance most days. Halloween is the only day I can recall dressing up that year, and on that day I was heckled on the walk home from work by a random dude in in a car full of what I assume were drunken twentysomethings. After I refused to get in the car, one guy yelled out “That’s ok, you’re fat anyways!”
Although to most outside perspectives, I was getting my life together, my self-esteem was lower than ever. I rarely wrote or produced art. The most fun I had (and the most creative thing I really did during that time) was allowing the kids in the house to play with my paints and ill-fitting clothing as well as organizing scavenger hunts and other games for them.
There was one little girl there who reminded me quite a lot of myself. She was 9 at the time, and a bit overweight like I had been at her age. Her father had died when she was too young to remember, but she had a general grasp of the situation that led to his death. Although she was generally a sweet girl, she used her sympathetic situation to get things she wanted..generally junk food. At first, I would give it to her, but one day I told her that it would have made life easier for me, and it would be better for my health if I had tried to establish better eating habits when I was younger. Happily, she decided to quit asking for junk food. Unhappily, I continued to buy it for myself.
After my probation ended when I was 22, I re-entered school and continued to work as a telemarketer. I signed my soul away for student loans, and moved to a place that I now refer to as “the Fight Club house” as per a description by a friend. It was true slum, but the price point was very difficult to argue with, and I didn’t have to sign a contract.
I unexpectedly quit working one day, as I called in with a migraine and was told I needed to come in even after explaining that were I to come in, I would arrive covered in puke and likely puke on their computer. Because my roommate and his friends had a tendency to steal my food and I was living on an extra tight budget, I ended up buying only things I knew I could either store in my room or safely put in the fridge because he didn’t like it. Mostly I ended up with hotdogs, pasta, and junk-food. It didn’t help that I didn’t have a car and the local grocery store carried produce which was well past its prime and often moldy.
While I lived there, I became something of a hermit, embarrassed to have friends over. My boyfriend was my only frequent visitor. The tight budget did not prevent me from binge-eating, but did lead to binges followed by days in which I’d eat almost nothing. This behavior was quite unkind to my waistline. I have no real idea of my weight at the time, but I wore a size 18. I gave away most of clothing in smaller sizes- largely to alleviate some of my frustration when getting dressed, but also because I didn’t see myself ever fitting back into them.

One might say that I wasn’t very happy there.
Because of the prolific amount of cat-calling in the neighbourhood, I began to intentionally dress in unflattering clothing. I stopped wearing make-up completely. My opinion of my own appearance fell accordingly. I had difficulties finding another job and so my self-worth also fell accordingly. Eventually, I was dumped by my fed-up boyfriend and felt even worse. I stopped going to class. I stopped going out. I hid in my room and told myself I was worthless and did nothing. This cycle of self-loathing continued to worsen until I met friend who tolerated my being Miss Doom and Gloom.
More in the next installment
Filed under: beliefs, emotions, love, poetry, writing | Tags: emotions, Love, poetry, relationships, writing
Love is neither desperate nor disinterested;
there are no pedestals involved.
It does not beg for change and cry
when it does not come.
It (mostly) does not dwell on angry words
or spit them back.
It strives to be patient, attentive, and kind.
It focuses on passions and talents
and watches them grow.
Love is a dynamic work of art,
ending only when both put down the brush.