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psalm_onethirtyoneIn the last month, two people have made negative comments about my weight, and it's been freaking me out, so now you have to hear about it. That's logic, right?
The first time was Canal Day; I'd just come from the gym and I was at the library talking to Jeannie, and we were talking about getting enough rest; I said, "I'd love to be able to sleep more!" There was a man reading books beside us, and when I said that he looked up, looked at me, and said, "If you slept more you'd lose more weight."
Um. I don't even know if that counts. Jeannie didn't say anything, and I just laughed and said I knew about that study but I wasn't too worried about losing weight, and left as soon as possible. But I felt squicked for the rest of the day.
And then the second time was last Tuesday, after my human bio class: one of the older women there shared with me that she had depression, and I commiserated and said that I had it too, and knew it was pretty awful. She said, "How can you be depressed? You're so young! I'm fifty-two, I have a reason to be depressed!" I said, "Oh, goodness, age shouldn't have to be depressing! But," and I thought I should be honest, partly because she shared with me and partly because I shouldn't be ashamed of this, "I had an eating disorder that started when I was fourteen and I never really got--"
"How thin were you?" she asked.
"Um. I was never really malnourished--" I said.
"No, but how much weight did you lose? At your lowest weight?"
"I was a hundred and twenty-seven pounds," I said (I hate saying this. I will never weigh that little ever again).
"What?" she said. "That's more than I weigh now! What kind of eating disorder is that?"
"I was just never malnourished," I said.
"I'll say!" she said.
Um. Um um um. I didn't actually cry, but. And that's not the first time I've gotten comments like that, like 'that doesn't sound like an eating disorder to me', 'it doesn't actually count unless you lose a lot of weight', but I never lost weight. That was one of the horrible things about it. I ate very little and exercised three or four hours a day and I actually gained weight. My aunt said that didn't sound like an eating disorder ("that sounds like how my dogs live"). And--I don't know, it just triggers the hell out of me. I was sorry that I'd eaten breakfast that morning. I wanted to go throw up or something.
So--I don't know. This has no conclusion, except that this is part of why I have been not-eating a lot this month. I mean, obviously, the reccurence of the depression has something to do with it, but this whole other-people-commenting-on-my-weight thing just sends me around the bend, even if I'm overreacting, which I probably am.
On a positive note: it looks absolutely gorgeous outside right now. The sky is that very pale blue colour, like blue eyes, and the turned trees and the dark spruces are all mingled together and blowing a little in the wind, but patterned all over with sunlight, and a little bit of water falls every time they move, from last night's storm. It's lovely.
The first time was Canal Day; I'd just come from the gym and I was at the library talking to Jeannie, and we were talking about getting enough rest; I said, "I'd love to be able to sleep more!" There was a man reading books beside us, and when I said that he looked up, looked at me, and said, "If you slept more you'd lose more weight."
Um. I don't even know if that counts. Jeannie didn't say anything, and I just laughed and said I knew about that study but I wasn't too worried about losing weight, and left as soon as possible. But I felt squicked for the rest of the day.
And then the second time was last Tuesday, after my human bio class: one of the older women there shared with me that she had depression, and I commiserated and said that I had it too, and knew it was pretty awful. She said, "How can you be depressed? You're so young! I'm fifty-two, I have a reason to be depressed!" I said, "Oh, goodness, age shouldn't have to be depressing! But," and I thought I should be honest, partly because she shared with me and partly because I shouldn't be ashamed of this, "I had an eating disorder that started when I was fourteen and I never really got--"
"How thin were you?" she asked.
"Um. I was never really malnourished--" I said.
"No, but how much weight did you lose? At your lowest weight?"
"I was a hundred and twenty-seven pounds," I said (I hate saying this. I will never weigh that little ever again).
"What?" she said. "That's more than I weigh now! What kind of eating disorder is that?"
"I was just never malnourished," I said.
"I'll say!" she said.
Um. Um um um. I didn't actually cry, but. And that's not the first time I've gotten comments like that, like 'that doesn't sound like an eating disorder to me', 'it doesn't actually count unless you lose a lot of weight', but I never lost weight. That was one of the horrible things about it. I ate very little and exercised three or four hours a day and I actually gained weight. My aunt said that didn't sound like an eating disorder ("that sounds like how my dogs live"). And--I don't know, it just triggers the hell out of me. I was sorry that I'd eaten breakfast that morning. I wanted to go throw up or something.
So--I don't know. This has no conclusion, except that this is part of why I have been not-eating a lot this month. I mean, obviously, the reccurence of the depression has something to do with it, but this whole other-people-commenting-on-my-weight thing just sends me around the bend, even if I'm overreacting, which I probably am.
On a positive note: it looks absolutely gorgeous outside right now. The sky is that very pale blue colour, like blue eyes, and the turned trees and the dark spruces are all mingled together and blowing a little in the wind, but patterned all over with sunlight, and a little bit of water falls every time they move, from last night's storm. It's lovely.
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