"Don't hate me because I'm beautiful..."

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by Ann Abel

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As I walked past an overweight co-worker yesterday, she grabbed my thin arm. "...And then there are lucky little things like her..." she said to her also-dieting friend. I have no idea as to the rest of that conversation, but I'd guess they were discussing, like many women, their desire to lose weight. I laughed along with them, but desperately wanted to shake this woman and scream about how wrong she was. I am not lucky. I am anorexic.

Unfortunately, she is not alone. Despite its progress, our society still equates "thin" with "beautiful" and is often blind to the problems my excessive thinness cause me. Few seem to realize that being 30 pounds underweight is more dangerous than 30 pounds overweight. Certainly as unattractive. But after all the articles I've seen comparing the risks of "apples" and "pears," I have yet to read about the hazards of "string beans."

When meeting someone a little larger than average, or even -- dare I say -- fat, who would dream of rudely asking, "How did you get so heavy?" "When are you going to take some meat off your bones?" "You could stand to lose a few pounds, couldn't you?" Ridiculous ... right? Yet people seem to ask me similar questions, or even tease me, without giving it a second thought. An actual conversation with a friend's brother went something like this:

"Hi. I'm Ann. Nice to meet you."

"I'm Eric. Do you ever eat?" I could have replied that he wasn't exactly built like Arnold Schwarzenegger, but I'm more polite than that.

So I don't want to hear how "lucky" I am or how "jealous" anyone thinks she is. Dropping a few pounds can improve self-esteem as well as health, but if a little is good, a lot is not always better. I should know. For me, it began three years ago when I was 16; a little "successful" diet that ballooned into a devastating anorexic illness.

While the symptoms and effects of anorexia are well known among the medical community, the causes of the disease are much harder to understand.

What is known is that most victims are attractive, high-achieving members of upper-middle class families. I certainly fit this "anorexic" mold. High achiever in high school. Pretty. Graduated seventh in my class of 400. National Merit Scholar. Well-liked. Involved. But while I came off as "completely together," I was falling apart inside. During my high school sophomore My year, the scale hit 135, and I took some teasing about being "voluptuous" and winning wet T-shirt contests.

best friend tried to console me. "Yeah, but you carry it well." I thought I'd be happier if I just lost five pounds. Soon I had my chance. The summer before my junior year, I had my wisdom teeth out. I lost that weight during the week when I couldn't eat anything solid. I felt better about myself. People complimented me. I decided I'd lose a few more for "insurance." I lost it all the "right way" -- a little less fat, a little more exercise -- like all the experts said. I dropped a reasonable pound a week -- for about a year. I wish I knew when my diet became an obsession, but I have no idea. Four months after my wisdom teeth came out, my family and friends began to worry. I denied my problems and continued to cut out more fat. Although I never stopped eating, at one point, my 5-5 frame held little more than 70 pounds. And even then some people still complimented me! Last fall, I realized my dream of going to Rice, only to discover how serious my anorexia is. I loved that semester, but knew I couldn't survive another until I got my health back together. After the worst week of my life, I made the hard but necessary decision to take the spring semester off, come home and concentrate on my recovery.

There were many "extras" that accompanied my recovery. The joy of spending hundreds of hours and thousands of dollars on doctors, therapists, dieticians, tests and Prozac. The pleasure of wading through the bureaucracy of my insurance company (although I shouldn't complain. At least my insurance covers mental health). The privilege of putting my education on hold for a semester. The good fortune of destroying my self-esteem. The fun of my skinny life in general -- I can't wear sleek sexy stylish clothes. I can't go ice skating because I get too cold. I can't go swimming because I'd really rather not wear a bathing suit in public. I can't sit on bleachers because I don't have enough padding. I can't concentrate because I'm usually obsessing about food.

Does this sound "lucky?" I would gladly trade cellulite for all the "luck" I've had.

All sarcasm aside, I have been lucky in two important respects. My health is extraordinarily good, much to the amazement of my doctor. I don't suffer from low electrolytes or anemia. The damage I've done to my reproductive system may still be reversible.

Less tangible, but equally important, is the vast amount of encouragement my friends and family give me. Along with their support, I'm lucky to have access to such good doctors and therapists. I've been in therapy for over a year now, and my progress is good, but slow.

My greatest blessing is in living in a city large enough to have a group therapy outpatient program at one of the hospitals. Six women meet with a therapist one evening a week, and I find myself looking forward to Wednesdays. At group sessions, I can complain about "having to eat Hagen-Dazs ice cream," and find sympathy instead of sarcasm.

My recovery is going well. I'm gaining my prescribed pound a week, I've returned to Rice and I'm optimistic about my future, yet I'm constantly faced with the unpleasant reality of having gone far beyond that American ideal of "thinness." I don't understand how classmates, acquaintances, even virtual strangers tell me how wonderful it would be to have my thin frame. I think I look like I've just emigrated from Somalia.

Some tell me I don't need to try to gain weight. That perplexes me even more than the idea that gaining would be fun and easy. "You can eat whatever you want!" they claim. I beg to differ. I really want to eat fruit for dessert, but it doesn't have enough fat. I wish I had the luxury of occasionally skipping lunch during hectic or stressful days. Store clerks compliment me on my "slight delicate physique" and tell me I can wear anything. True, I've had no problems getting things to zip, but I'm tired of hiding out in baggy styles -- almost anything else reveals too many bones.

I hardly consider "thin" a compliment anymore, but anorexia has made it so hard for me to eat anything fattening. I wish I had a pound for every time a woman has told me she wished she had my problem. Or that she'd have no trouble gaining weight. As anyone who has ever dieted knows, changing one's weight is difficult. It involves willpower and not eating what one desires. The same holds true for gaining. My eating premium ice cream when I'd prefer sorbet is no different than the woman who craves the cream and settles for the sorbet. It isn't easy.

It's hard to unlearn the behaviors I developed while losing weight. My intuition tells me not to eat those greasy fries -- and social expectations make it even harder. Our culture accepts, even expects, women to be trying to cut back and lose weight. In high school and college, my friends often dieted together -- a female-bonding rite-of-passage which excluded me. Hallmark prints weight-loss motivation cards. Oprah's viewers cheered when she "victoriously" slid into those size-10 Calvins.

I constantly hear about a co-worker's progress with Weight Watchers. Why is it that when she announces she's lost three pounds and is closer to her goal of attractiveness, people congratulate her? If I mention the three pounds I've put toward my goal of health, I find as much sarcasm, eye-rolling and misunderstanding from them as admiration and support from my true friends.

I have few chances to forget how unusual what I am doing is. Women's magazines and television commercials overflow with articles on celebrity weight-loss tips, diet plans and features on dressing thinner.

Even the comics are a painful reminder of my anorexia. The creator of Luann seems to find the disease suitable material for laughing at over Corn Flakes. I saw a postcard today that joked, "Finish your vegetables, kids. There are people in Beverly Hills with eating disorders." Ouch!

Twice a week, after I've been coping with my emotional problems with my psychologist, her receptionist's mug reminds me of the emphasis on thinness and dieting. "If God had wanted me to be thin," it reads, "He would have given me willpower." I like to believe God has more important things on His mind.

I guess I do sound rather cynical. My emotional problems are frustrating and I'm sick of being the butt of jokes as well. Jokes about AIDS, cancer, even fat people are considered to be in bad taste, but it's still open season on skinny people. As if a subsequent "you know I'm just jealous" justifies hurtful words.

My slenderness can also be inconvenient. Just once I'd like the window seat in a car trip. But no one else fits quite as well in the middle. I'd like to be greeted at work with something other than "Oh, you've got skinny hands. Can you reach in this box for me?" I'd like to be thought of as more than skinny. I see people I meet as much more than their measurements, whether they're above, below or exactly average.

If people had more of an idea about the impact my physique has had on my life, I doubt they'd be so cavalier about my "luck." I wonder how anyone can be jealous of all the insensitivity and misunderstanding I live with. I'd gladly take those 20 pounds people tell me they'd like to give me, but I don't know if they really want to part with them. They're some physical and emotional padding in a rather sharp world ... They're just a little more to love ...

Sounds pretty lucky to me.

The Rice Counseling Center (x4867) offers individual and group therapy to students with eating disorders. They will also offer Rice students referrals to eating disorder programs in the greater Houston area.

This item appeared in the Features section of the November 5, 1993 issue.

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