Mercuria (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} mercuriazs) wrote,@ 2007-09-15 22:24:00 |
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OMG YOU GUYS.
Maybe I'll make a birthday post later, but for now: I wrote a play!
A short play. A short play I am submitting to a contest where if I win, I could get a thousand dollars. I am submitting it anywhere between next week and two weeks from now, when the deadline is. And and I want it to be the most kickass thing ever, since there is MONEY involved. Soooo, ummmm, I know these days all I do is ask people for help and things, but if you have a little time and would not mind reading a ten-minute play about eating disorders, that would be beautiful and total love.
Maybe I'll make a birthday post later, but for now: I wrote a play!
A short play. A short play I am submitting to a contest where if I win, I could get a thousand dollars. I am submitting it anywhere between next week and two weeks from now, when the deadline is. And and I want it to be the most kickass thing ever, since there is MONEY involved. Soooo, ummmm, I know these days all I do is ask people for help and things, but if you have a little time and would not mind reading a ten-minute play about eating disorders, that would be beautiful and total love.
The Skinny
1. Karina’s Theory of the Eating Disorder
There is a microphone onstage, which KARINA takes. She is eighteen or nineteen, slim, of no particular ethnicity. The microphone remains her exclusive prop, though she may also wield flashcards, hold up signs, play recordings, etc.
KARINA
Hey there. Hey. How’s everybody doing? I’m Karina, I’ll be your emcee tonight. And—believe me, I’ve been there too. Girls with eating disorders? How bizarre. How repulsive. How stupid. Just relax, Kessa, you’re not fat; now keep the brownies where we can see them and put your hands over your head.
I get it. It seems so simple.
But I will argue that it’s not.
We all know the anorexic girl. She is skinny, hollow-eyed, and shallow. She doesn’t eat meals, she doesn’t contribute—she hovers on the periphery, like a very unappealing rabbit. She’s not very smart, or else maybe it would penetrate that a handful of almonds or a chocolate bar will not lead to instantaneous and irreparable weight gain. Sure, we’d all like to lose five pounds—or ten—but the anorexic girl doesn’t know when to quit. We know her, but we don’t understand her; she’s like a foreigner, or an alien from another planet. A very skinny alien.
I will argue that the anorexic girl was once just like you.
Once upon a time she did not think in calories. She did not feel the pressing, burning need to run five miles after eating a slice of pizza. Once upon a time, every anorexic girl on the face of the earth was just a little kid, eight or maybe ten, and she did not know that she was fat. What she may have known then was that she was very smart—so smart that she made people nervous. Maybe she knew that she noticed things nobody else did. Maybe all she knew was that she was different, in some deep and nameless way, and that other people didn’t seem to like it.
Who was she exactly? I don’t know. There’s no trick to predicting it, no predestination—it is a subtle and complicated calculus that ultimately grants us that perfect storm of environment; media; genetic predisposition; that time in fourth grade your ballet teacher told you your butt stuck out; overeducation; parental dietary habits; peer group; role models; Victoria's Secret models; perfectionism, whether latent or apparent from an early age; the unrealistic societal expectation of perfection in a woman as the basis by which we may judge whether she is worthy of love, respect, and appreciation …
That combines to yield: the anorexic adolescent female.
My purpose here is not to argue the causes of this phenomenon. People with more Ph.D.s than I will ever amass have already managed to be thoroughly incorrect on the subject. But I do challenge you to think.
Who is the anorexic beneath the disease? Is she a wraith, a doll, a robot? A hollow, defeated shell of who she used to be?
Or is she that lonely, fragmented part of us that just wants to be liked?
Or is she a friend?
Or is she in you, somewhere, looking for a way out?
2. Violet’s Top Ten Excuses for Having Lost So Much Weight
Enter VIOLET. She is waifishly thin, a little pale and tired. Seventeen or eighteen years old. During her speech, she holds up placards beginning at 10 and counting down all the way to 1.
VIOLET
10. I haven’t lost any weight, really—these pants are just really flattering.
9. I’ve been eating right. Lots of wheat and green vegetables.
8. Oh, you know—exercise! It’s been great for strengthening my core.
7. But actually, I … haven’t lost any weight. I know, right? Weird.
6. I got consumption. Slimmed me right down.
5. I’m getting an early start on swimsuit season! Six months early …
4. I’m on a hunger strike until they stop the violence in Darfur.
3. I decided I’m being Kate Moss for Halloween.
2. I’m on a vision quest—two more days without food or water and I think I meet my spirit guide.
1. I haven’t lost any weight. It’s just an optical illusion.
It’s all in your head.
3. April’s Brush With Hotness
APRIL is sixteen, no particular ethnicity or body type. However, she is cute, bright, and bold. More than a little clueless.
APRIL
They told me, beauty isn’t how you look. It’s how you act. Walk tall, exude confidence—feel beautiful. And it'll all fall into place.
So I tried it. It was an experiment. I picked the longest hallway I could find, right after fifth period, when it was crowded with people. I selected my initial pose: hands on my hips, one leg forward, shoulders back, chest out, head high—and I went for it. I strode against the tide of people like a model on a very high-traffic catwalk. I didn’t stop to see where I was going; I didn’t stop to see if I’d hit anybody with my elbow. I didn’t stop to see if people were looking at me. I knew they were looking at me. And when I had strutted the entire length of that corridor, and was thinking of turning around and going back for good measure, I saw my friend Amber coming out of her English class. And she gave me this really funny look.
What are you doing? she said. You look like a hooker.
That was the end of the experiment.
I still don’t know if I actually did feel beautiful … or if I was just doing a weird walk down a hallway full of people. It isn’t really an attractive idea.
4. Violet Attempts to Deflect the Awkward Through Humor
VIOLET
Believe me, I’m not out to make anyone uncomfortable. I know I do anyway—and honestly, I’m not sure why. I mean, nobody in the room freaks out when someone says they’re a vegetarian. And I don’t eat meat either!
… Not usually, anyway.
Anyway. I don’t want to make anybody uncomfortable. So I thought I’d get up here and tell a few jokes—lighten the mood a little. You can tell some, too, if you know any. Does anybody know any good jokes? Come on. Don’t be shy.
VIOLET may ad-lib here, attempting to induce the audience members to tell jokes. Once they’ve finished (if anyone does, in fact, choose to tell any), she continues. KARINA is present and may play a small drum sting at each punchline, or when appropriate.
VIOLET
Okay. So. Why did the anorexic cross the road?
Because she still felt fat in her sweatpants.
How many anorexics does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
Just two: One to screw it in, and one to hold up the mirror while she does it.
Why do anorexics get into so many arguments?
Because they’ve got a bone to pick with everyone.
What do you call an anorexic who works at Olive Garden?
An underweight-ress.
A priest, a rabbi, and an anorexic walk into a bar.
Ow!
Knock knock.
(gets audience to say, “Who’s there?”)
Orange.
(gets audience to say, “Orange who?”)
Orange you glad you didn’t have that banana after lunch?
Hey, just because we’re wasting away here doesn’t mean we can’t have a healthy sense of humor. Speaking of healthy, I do enjoy hearty servings of the four basic food groups: water, celery, artificial sweetener, and willpower. But seriously, folks, I ran into an anorexic chick the other day who said she hadn’t had a bite in weeks!
It … was probably true.
Beat.
I guess the jokes aren’t very funny.
Well—don’t worry!
I’ve got a million of ‘em.
5. April Finds True Love in Sophomore Year
APRIL
His name is Jason.
His name is Jason and he plays football and he’s in my physics class and he’s in the chess club and he’s totally cool about it. I think that’s so cool.
Plus he does the cutest thing when he’s thinking—he bites his lip, and his brow kind of furrows, like he’s never thought about anything so hard in his life. Like no one’s ever thought so hard about anything in their lives. He’s completely adorable.
Amber says he doesn’t date anybody who weighs over 120 pounds.
I think she’s exaggerating—I mean, in the first place, how can you tell. And then in the second place, I looked this up online and it’s totally normal for tall people to weigh a lot more than short people but not look like it. So, I’m like five eight? I think I should get special dispensation. Because if I weighed 120 pounds I’d be … well, I guess I wouldn’t be gross. But it’d be pretty unlikely. I’d look just like a supermodel.
VIOLET crosses. APRIL watches her.
APRIL
I don’t know.
I can’t ask Jason about it, though.
… That would be totally awkward.
6. Karina Checks Her Messages
VIOLET
Hey babe, sorry to ditch you this weekend. No worries, I'm fine, I’m perfecting my seven-minute mile! See you on Monday—what was the chem homework?
A beat.
KARINA
Okay. You got me. I am not your dispassionate narrator. What I am is recovering—two years of therapy, two medications in varying doses, four dietary plans of attack. A relapse or two, nothing major. Relapses are normal. I will be relapsing for the rest of my life.
What I am is worried. It’s hard to be friends with Violet—it gets harder all the time. Not because she’s Violet. I love Violet. She’s smart, she’s funny … she’s an amazing person. I’m lucky to know her. But it is hard to be friends with her. It’s like if I were watching her make little incisions into herself day by day, every day a new inch of skin, a little deeper … if she were a block of wood she’d be whittling herself down to a toothpick. I don’t know what it’s like. It’s just hard.
When I first started having trouble, I wouldn’t accept that anything was wrong with me. Not until my mom and my doctor sat me down-- even then, I insisted that I was at least marginally okay. But Violet knew from the get-go—about her, I mean, not about me; though it’s possible she knew that too. Violet claims she has ana-dar; she can pick us out in a crowded room. Basically, there is nothing I can say that will be of the slightest use to her. My “insights,” or whatever you want to call them, do not apply: Violet has always known exactly what she was doing.
It’s almost worse that I’m recovering. That I have a boyfriend, that I get along with my mom … whatever. Everything that makes us different just makes it worse. I feel … guilty, for feeling better. I feel like we should go down together. I know I’m not responsible for anybody aside from myself—it’s like they tell you in the Girl Scouts handbook. They say that if you’re at a roller-skating rink, and somebody falls, you’re not supposed to try to help them up. Because you’re both on skates, and if they pull you off balance, you’ll both just fall over.
7. Violet and the Things You Lose
VIOLET
The first thing to go is perspective. That’s the big one—probably you won’t even notice it. It’s like … if you’ve ever been to New York—shopping in Midtown. Spend a few hours there, regardless of economic status, and it will suddenly seem incredibly reasonable to spend 270 dollars on a pair of shoes.
Spend a few months in a state of dwindling perspective, and it will suddenly seem incredibly reasonable to call 270 calories a meal. Or sometimes you’ll look in the mirror and, swear to God, you will not be able to determine what the hell you look like. Because you think you’re okay, but the scale said you gained a pound in just an afternoon, so you think you’re okay but my God where did that ripple of fat come from? On your thighs? That’s monstrous.
The scale, incidentally, is like the Oracle at Delphi: It is baffling, it is bewildering. Half the time it makes no sense whatsoever. But it’s never wrong.
The next thing you lose is your friends. It’s no one’s fault, and it doesn’t happen right away—but all the same, there is a steady trickle. Death by attrition. You think you’re growing apart, you’re outgrowing them, they are jealous of your glamorously successful new diet. Even the ones who know, who choose to stick by you, even they can’t cross the gulf that has sprung up between you. It is very dark, and very ugly, and most people choose simply to skirt the edges and avoid a confrontation altogether. Probably this is sensible.
Back to perspective: When you lose your friends, probably you won’t notice that either. Because you will be very busy. You will be studying diet tips and exercise regimens and haggling yourself down the last few pounds before you can fit into smaller pants. These things take time.
Next you lose focus. This is not only a side effect of malnutrition, but also a broader comment on the consequences of your preoccupation with weight. Make no mistake: This will rule your life. There will be no room for drive or ambition that does not further the cause of slimming down. To eat, to give the body fuel, is among the most basic of human needs, and therefore you will be working constantly not to sabotage yourself. So you lose focus; your goals become weight-oriented or quickly fade into nonexistence. Your dreams remain hazy and remote.
There are, of course, other things that go: Weight, first and foremost. The lining of your esophagus. The ability to bear children. Resilience. Brain cells. Muscle mass. Patience. The ability to remain alert.
Here’s what you keep: rationality. You have never been so rational. What? you may be saying to yourself. Rational? Half a peanut is not rational. Six miles without water is not rational. But within your brand-new frame of reference, it makes perfect sense. You assess with the snap decisions of a CEO what you can and cannot afford—chocolate bar yes, bagel no, sleeping in on Saturday instead of working out … no. You’ll probably determine that you can’t afford very much. But it is rational—it is all meticulously calculated. You are simply turning every tool in your considerable arsenal to one. Single. Task.
Some people will say you’re crazy. Some people will say you’re stupid. Some will say you’re a pathetic deluded byproduct of our thin-obsessed culture. You’ll even get a few who will deign to call you “troubled.” What no one will say is that you are still you, under there—you still have hobbies, ideas, favorite CDs, favorite movies, even favorite foods. You may have become a lean, mean, hyper-metabolic machine; you may have sacrificed vision and health and God knows how much of the right side of your brain; you may drift through your days in an inarticulate, paranoid spiral of calories and exercise and absolutely nothing else …
But you are still you, under there.
It’s just that nobody else can see it.
8. April’s New Diet
APRIL
It’s so weird. I haven’t done anything special—I just stopped eating anything that says it’s more than five percent of my daily fat value. And I’ve already lost three pounds! Amber says she’s going to try it, but I don’t know if she’ll be able to keep it up. She loooves Doritos.
Jason hasn’t talked to me yet. I’m working up the nerve to ask him something about chess. It’s funny … I mean, I wasn’t terribly happy with how I looked before. But I wasn’t miserable or anything; not to the point that I actually wanted to change anything. Now it’s like … if you were fixing one floorboard, just a single floorboard in your house … and you realized suddenly that you didn’t even want floorboards, you wanted—tile! Marble tile. Something gorgeous, and elegant, even if it meant you’d have to do some renovating, It’s like that.
I mean, my God … this isn’t even a real diet. I’m just eating a little better. Who knows what I could do if I actually applied myself? Maybe started working out, running a few laps …
I could be really beautiful.
I think I really could be.
I don’t need to weigh 120 pounds. I still think Amber was making that up. But, my God …
I think I’ve got potential.
Lights fade to black.
1. Karina’s Theory of the Eating Disorder
There is a microphone onstage, which KARINA takes. She is eighteen or nineteen, slim, of no particular ethnicity. The microphone remains her exclusive prop, though she may also wield flashcards, hold up signs, play recordings, etc.
KARINA
Hey there. Hey. How’s everybody doing? I’m Karina, I’ll be your emcee tonight. And—believe me, I’ve been there too. Girls with eating disorders? How bizarre. How repulsive. How stupid. Just relax, Kessa, you’re not fat; now keep the brownies where we can see them and put your hands over your head.
I get it. It seems so simple.
But I will argue that it’s not.
We all know the anorexic girl. She is skinny, hollow-eyed, and shallow. She doesn’t eat meals, she doesn’t contribute—she hovers on the periphery, like a very unappealing rabbit. She’s not very smart, or else maybe it would penetrate that a handful of almonds or a chocolate bar will not lead to instantaneous and irreparable weight gain. Sure, we’d all like to lose five pounds—or ten—but the anorexic girl doesn’t know when to quit. We know her, but we don’t understand her; she’s like a foreigner, or an alien from another planet. A very skinny alien.
I will argue that the anorexic girl was once just like you.
Once upon a time she did not think in calories. She did not feel the pressing, burning need to run five miles after eating a slice of pizza. Once upon a time, every anorexic girl on the face of the earth was just a little kid, eight or maybe ten, and she did not know that she was fat. What she may have known then was that she was very smart—so smart that she made people nervous. Maybe she knew that she noticed things nobody else did. Maybe all she knew was that she was different, in some deep and nameless way, and that other people didn’t seem to like it.
Who was she exactly? I don’t know. There’s no trick to predicting it, no predestination—it is a subtle and complicated calculus that ultimately grants us that perfect storm of environment; media; genetic predisposition; that time in fourth grade your ballet teacher told you your butt stuck out; overeducation; parental dietary habits; peer group; role models; Victoria's Secret models; perfectionism, whether latent or apparent from an early age; the unrealistic societal expectation of perfection in a woman as the basis by which we may judge whether she is worthy of love, respect, and appreciation …
That combines to yield: the anorexic adolescent female.
My purpose here is not to argue the causes of this phenomenon. People with more Ph.D.s than I will ever amass have already managed to be thoroughly incorrect on the subject. But I do challenge you to think.
Who is the anorexic beneath the disease? Is she a wraith, a doll, a robot? A hollow, defeated shell of who she used to be?
Or is she that lonely, fragmented part of us that just wants to be liked?
Or is she a friend?
Or is she in you, somewhere, looking for a way out?
2. Violet’s Top Ten Excuses for Having Lost So Much Weight
Enter VIOLET. She is waifishly thin, a little pale and tired. Seventeen or eighteen years old. During her speech, she holds up placards beginning at 10 and counting down all the way to 1.
VIOLET
10. I haven’t lost any weight, really—these pants are just really flattering.
9. I’ve been eating right. Lots of wheat and green vegetables.
8. Oh, you know—exercise! It’s been great for strengthening my core.
7. But actually, I … haven’t lost any weight. I know, right? Weird.
6. I got consumption. Slimmed me right down.
5. I’m getting an early start on swimsuit season! Six months early …
4. I’m on a hunger strike until they stop the violence in Darfur.
3. I decided I’m being Kate Moss for Halloween.
2. I’m on a vision quest—two more days without food or water and I think I meet my spirit guide.
1. I haven’t lost any weight. It’s just an optical illusion.
It’s all in your head.
3. April’s Brush With Hotness
APRIL is sixteen, no particular ethnicity or body type. However, she is cute, bright, and bold. More than a little clueless.
APRIL
They told me, beauty isn’t how you look. It’s how you act. Walk tall, exude confidence—feel beautiful. And it'll all fall into place.
So I tried it. It was an experiment. I picked the longest hallway I could find, right after fifth period, when it was crowded with people. I selected my initial pose: hands on my hips, one leg forward, shoulders back, chest out, head high—and I went for it. I strode against the tide of people like a model on a very high-traffic catwalk. I didn’t stop to see where I was going; I didn’t stop to see if I’d hit anybody with my elbow. I didn’t stop to see if people were looking at me. I knew they were looking at me. And when I had strutted the entire length of that corridor, and was thinking of turning around and going back for good measure, I saw my friend Amber coming out of her English class. And she gave me this really funny look.
What are you doing? she said. You look like a hooker.
That was the end of the experiment.
I still don’t know if I actually did feel beautiful … or if I was just doing a weird walk down a hallway full of people. It isn’t really an attractive idea.
4. Violet Attempts to Deflect the Awkward Through Humor
VIOLET
Believe me, I’m not out to make anyone uncomfortable. I know I do anyway—and honestly, I’m not sure why. I mean, nobody in the room freaks out when someone says they’re a vegetarian. And I don’t eat meat either!
… Not usually, anyway.
Anyway. I don’t want to make anybody uncomfortable. So I thought I’d get up here and tell a few jokes—lighten the mood a little. You can tell some, too, if you know any. Does anybody know any good jokes? Come on. Don’t be shy.
VIOLET may ad-lib here, attempting to induce the audience members to tell jokes. Once they’ve finished (if anyone does, in fact, choose to tell any), she continues. KARINA is present and may play a small drum sting at each punchline, or when appropriate.
VIOLET
Okay. So. Why did the anorexic cross the road?
Because she still felt fat in her sweatpants.
How many anorexics does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
Just two: One to screw it in, and one to hold up the mirror while she does it.
Why do anorexics get into so many arguments?
Because they’ve got a bone to pick with everyone.
What do you call an anorexic who works at Olive Garden?
An underweight-ress.
A priest, a rabbi, and an anorexic walk into a bar.
Ow!
Knock knock.
(gets audience to say, “Who’s there?”)
Orange.
(gets audience to say, “Orange who?”)
Orange you glad you didn’t have that banana after lunch?
Hey, just because we’re wasting away here doesn’t mean we can’t have a healthy sense of humor. Speaking of healthy, I do enjoy hearty servings of the four basic food groups: water, celery, artificial sweetener, and willpower. But seriously, folks, I ran into an anorexic chick the other day who said she hadn’t had a bite in weeks!
It … was probably true.
Beat.
I guess the jokes aren’t very funny.
Well—don’t worry!
I’ve got a million of ‘em.
5. April Finds True Love in Sophomore Year
APRIL
His name is Jason.
His name is Jason and he plays football and he’s in my physics class and he’s in the chess club and he’s totally cool about it. I think that’s so cool.
Plus he does the cutest thing when he’s thinking—he bites his lip, and his brow kind of furrows, like he’s never thought about anything so hard in his life. Like no one’s ever thought so hard about anything in their lives. He’s completely adorable.
Amber says he doesn’t date anybody who weighs over 120 pounds.
I think she’s exaggerating—I mean, in the first place, how can you tell. And then in the second place, I looked this up online and it’s totally normal for tall people to weigh a lot more than short people but not look like it. So, I’m like five eight? I think I should get special dispensation. Because if I weighed 120 pounds I’d be … well, I guess I wouldn’t be gross. But it’d be pretty unlikely. I’d look just like a supermodel.
VIOLET crosses. APRIL watches her.
APRIL
I don’t know.
I can’t ask Jason about it, though.
… That would be totally awkward.
6. Karina Checks Her Messages
VIOLET
Hey babe, sorry to ditch you this weekend. No worries, I'm fine, I’m perfecting my seven-minute mile! See you on Monday—what was the chem homework?
A beat.
KARINA
Okay. You got me. I am not your dispassionate narrator. What I am is recovering—two years of therapy, two medications in varying doses, four dietary plans of attack. A relapse or two, nothing major. Relapses are normal. I will be relapsing for the rest of my life.
What I am is worried. It’s hard to be friends with Violet—it gets harder all the time. Not because she’s Violet. I love Violet. She’s smart, she’s funny … she’s an amazing person. I’m lucky to know her. But it is hard to be friends with her. It’s like if I were watching her make little incisions into herself day by day, every day a new inch of skin, a little deeper … if she were a block of wood she’d be whittling herself down to a toothpick. I don’t know what it’s like. It’s just hard.
When I first started having trouble, I wouldn’t accept that anything was wrong with me. Not until my mom and my doctor sat me down-- even then, I insisted that I was at least marginally okay. But Violet knew from the get-go—about her, I mean, not about me; though it’s possible she knew that too. Violet claims she has ana-dar; she can pick us out in a crowded room. Basically, there is nothing I can say that will be of the slightest use to her. My “insights,” or whatever you want to call them, do not apply: Violet has always known exactly what she was doing.
It’s almost worse that I’m recovering. That I have a boyfriend, that I get along with my mom … whatever. Everything that makes us different just makes it worse. I feel … guilty, for feeling better. I feel like we should go down together. I know I’m not responsible for anybody aside from myself—it’s like they tell you in the Girl Scouts handbook. They say that if you’re at a roller-skating rink, and somebody falls, you’re not supposed to try to help them up. Because you’re both on skates, and if they pull you off balance, you’ll both just fall over.
7. Violet and the Things You Lose
VIOLET
The first thing to go is perspective. That’s the big one—probably you won’t even notice it. It’s like … if you’ve ever been to New York—shopping in Midtown. Spend a few hours there, regardless of economic status, and it will suddenly seem incredibly reasonable to spend 270 dollars on a pair of shoes.
Spend a few months in a state of dwindling perspective, and it will suddenly seem incredibly reasonable to call 270 calories a meal. Or sometimes you’ll look in the mirror and, swear to God, you will not be able to determine what the hell you look like. Because you think you’re okay, but the scale said you gained a pound in just an afternoon, so you think you’re okay but my God where did that ripple of fat come from? On your thighs? That’s monstrous.
The scale, incidentally, is like the Oracle at Delphi: It is baffling, it is bewildering. Half the time it makes no sense whatsoever. But it’s never wrong.
The next thing you lose is your friends. It’s no one’s fault, and it doesn’t happen right away—but all the same, there is a steady trickle. Death by attrition. You think you’re growing apart, you’re outgrowing them, they are jealous of your glamorously successful new diet. Even the ones who know, who choose to stick by you, even they can’t cross the gulf that has sprung up between you. It is very dark, and very ugly, and most people choose simply to skirt the edges and avoid a confrontation altogether. Probably this is sensible.
Back to perspective: When you lose your friends, probably you won’t notice that either. Because you will be very busy. You will be studying diet tips and exercise regimens and haggling yourself down the last few pounds before you can fit into smaller pants. These things take time.
Next you lose focus. This is not only a side effect of malnutrition, but also a broader comment on the consequences of your preoccupation with weight. Make no mistake: This will rule your life. There will be no room for drive or ambition that does not further the cause of slimming down. To eat, to give the body fuel, is among the most basic of human needs, and therefore you will be working constantly not to sabotage yourself. So you lose focus; your goals become weight-oriented or quickly fade into nonexistence. Your dreams remain hazy and remote.
There are, of course, other things that go: Weight, first and foremost. The lining of your esophagus. The ability to bear children. Resilience. Brain cells. Muscle mass. Patience. The ability to remain alert.
Here’s what you keep: rationality. You have never been so rational. What? you may be saying to yourself. Rational? Half a peanut is not rational. Six miles without water is not rational. But within your brand-new frame of reference, it makes perfect sense. You assess with the snap decisions of a CEO what you can and cannot afford—chocolate bar yes, bagel no, sleeping in on Saturday instead of working out … no. You’ll probably determine that you can’t afford very much. But it is rational—it is all meticulously calculated. You are simply turning every tool in your considerable arsenal to one. Single. Task.
Some people will say you’re crazy. Some people will say you’re stupid. Some will say you’re a pathetic deluded byproduct of our thin-obsessed culture. You’ll even get a few who will deign to call you “troubled.” What no one will say is that you are still you, under there—you still have hobbies, ideas, favorite CDs, favorite movies, even favorite foods. You may have become a lean, mean, hyper-metabolic machine; you may have sacrificed vision and health and God knows how much of the right side of your brain; you may drift through your days in an inarticulate, paranoid spiral of calories and exercise and absolutely nothing else …
But you are still you, under there.
It’s just that nobody else can see it.
8. April’s New Diet
APRIL
It’s so weird. I haven’t done anything special—I just stopped eating anything that says it’s more than five percent of my daily fat value. And I’ve already lost three pounds! Amber says she’s going to try it, but I don’t know if she’ll be able to keep it up. She loooves Doritos.
Jason hasn’t talked to me yet. I’m working up the nerve to ask him something about chess. It’s funny … I mean, I wasn’t terribly happy with how I looked before. But I wasn’t miserable or anything; not to the point that I actually wanted to change anything. Now it’s like … if you were fixing one floorboard, just a single floorboard in your house … and you realized suddenly that you didn’t even want floorboards, you wanted—tile! Marble tile. Something gorgeous, and elegant, even if it meant you’d have to do some renovating, It’s like that.
I mean, my God … this isn’t even a real diet. I’m just eating a little better. Who knows what I could do if I actually applied myself? Maybe started working out, running a few laps …
I could be really beautiful.
I think I really could be.
I don’t need to weigh 120 pounds. I still think Amber was making that up. But, my God …
I think I’ve got potential.
Lights fade to black.
Soooo, yes, letting me know what's problematic, what worked/didn't work, that would be of tremendous help. If you have time! Whatevs.
