front of this crowd. Thankfully, I didn’t even pack one, which provides a pretty good excuse.
So for the time being, I’ve designed my own weight-loss plan, which includes lots of exercise and alternating between starvation and B&B (binge and barf). Or, as a girl from Indianapolis puts it, I’m an “Ana Mia,” which is a girl who uses both anorexia and bulimia, but I think she’s overstating things.
I don’t like to call these “diets” by their medical terms, because I don’t honestly believe that’s what I’m doing. Anorexics and bulimics choose a way of life. If anything, this is only a temporary situation for me—just a means to an end. After I lose my weight, which I’m now more determined than ever to do, I will follow Leah’s example. I will eat and exercise sensibly. But until that time, I feel a need for drastic measures.
Some of the girls, the ones who seem to like me or like being seen with me, are even giving me helpful tips.
“Drink lots of coffee, it’ll make you hyper and you’ll burn more calories.”
“Make sure you eat plenty of dairy products when you binge . . . it’ll help to protect your esophagus when you throw up.”
“Brush your teeth after barfing so the acid doesn’t eat the enamel off.”
“Use laxatives if you get tired of barfing. It’s called purging and it cleans your body out.”
“Take diuretics if you need to lose weight fast, like for photos.”
Okay, some of this stuff was pretty overwhelming at first. But the more I hear, the more I get used to it.
After twelve days of alternately starving myself and binging/purging (since I still can’t decide which method I prefer), I experiencea little scare today. I am going up the stairs when I get so light-headed that I almost pass out. I actually see stars or fuzzy spots in front of my eyes, and I have to sit down right there on the stairs and put my head between my legs. I’m not sure how long I do this, but when I finally lift my head up, I do feel a little worried. I see that I’m on the fifteenth floor, and just to be safe, I decide to take the elevator up to my room.
Fortunately Leah and everyone else are still downstairs being fitted for the big fashion show tomorrow, the grand finale of modeling school (and I am playing hooky since I really don’t want to participate, and because I have no plans to become a professional model, no one really cares whether I participate in everything anyway).
So, feeling a little worried about my health, in general, I go into our room to lie down for a few minutes. I immediately think I should pray, since that’s what I usually do when I feel worried or scared or sick. But then I stop myself. It’s like I can’t pray about this, like I have this sense that if I pray, I will have to admit that what I’m doing is wrong. And, although I’ve felt sort of guilty about what I’m doing, I’ve been telling myself that it’s not a sin.
I mean, aren’t we supposed to take care of our bodies and treat them like temples? And having an overweight body doesn’t exactly qualify, does it? Wouldn’t God get more glory if I lost this flab and became fit? And so I go round and round until I finally come to the conclusion that this is probably just a lesson in self-discipline for me. For the past year or so, I’ve been careless about eating (or overeating), and I think that food has become far too important to me—like it is a god or something. And I know that God doesn’t want that for me. So I decide that losing this weight really is the right thing to do. But I have to admit that it’s still kind of hard to pray. Although I do manage to bumble along.
I start feeling better, and I think that God is answering my prayer. And suddenly I feel energized and I want to go down to the fitness center while most of the machines will be available, since the girls are probably still trying on clothes.
And here is the highlight of my day—perhaps of the whole time I’ve been
So for the time being, I’ve designed my own weight-loss plan, which includes lots of exercise and alternating between starvation and B&B (binge and barf). Or, as a girl from Indianapolis puts it, I’m an “Ana Mia,” which is a girl who uses both anorexia and bulimia, but I think she’s overstating things.
I don’t like to call these “diets” by their medical terms, because I don’t honestly believe that’s what I’m doing. Anorexics and bulimics choose a way of life. If anything, this is only a temporary situation for me—just a means to an end. After I lose my weight, which I’m now more determined than ever to do, I will follow Leah’s example. I will eat and exercise sensibly. But until that time, I feel a need for drastic measures.
Some of the girls, the ones who seem to like me or like being seen with me, are even giving me helpful tips.
“Drink lots of coffee, it’ll make you hyper and you’ll burn more calories.”
“Make sure you eat plenty of dairy products when you binge . . . it’ll help to protect your esophagus when you throw up.”
“Brush your teeth after barfing so the acid doesn’t eat the enamel off.”
“Use laxatives if you get tired of barfing. It’s called purging and it cleans your body out.”
“Take diuretics if you need to lose weight fast, like for photos.”
Okay, some of this stuff was pretty overwhelming at first. But the more I hear, the more I get used to it.
After twelve days of alternately starving myself and binging/purging (since I still can’t decide which method I prefer), I experiencea little scare today. I am going up the stairs when I get so light-headed that I almost pass out. I actually see stars or fuzzy spots in front of my eyes, and I have to sit down right there on the stairs and put my head between my legs. I’m not sure how long I do this, but when I finally lift my head up, I do feel a little worried. I see that I’m on the fifteenth floor, and just to be safe, I decide to take the elevator up to my room.
Fortunately Leah and everyone else are still downstairs being fitted for the big fashion show tomorrow, the grand finale of modeling school (and I am playing hooky since I really don’t want to participate, and because I have no plans to become a professional model, no one really cares whether I participate in everything anyway).
So, feeling a little worried about my health, in general, I go into our room to lie down for a few minutes. I immediately think I should pray, since that’s what I usually do when I feel worried or scared or sick. But then I stop myself. It’s like I can’t pray about this, like I have this sense that if I pray, I will have to admit that what I’m doing is wrong. And, although I’ve felt sort of guilty about what I’m doing, I’ve been telling myself that it’s not a sin.
I mean, aren’t we supposed to take care of our bodies and treat them like temples? And having an overweight body doesn’t exactly qualify, does it? Wouldn’t God get more glory if I lost this flab and became fit? And so I go round and round until I finally come to the conclusion that this is probably just a lesson in self-discipline for me. For the past year or so, I’ve been careless about eating (or overeating), and I think that food has become far too important to me—like it is a god or something. And I know that God doesn’t want that for me. So I decide that losing this weight really is the right thing to do. But I have to admit that it’s still kind of hard to pray. Although I do manage to bumble along.
I start feeling better, and I think that God is answering my prayer. And suddenly I feel energized and I want to go down to the fitness center while most of the machines will be available, since the girls are probably still trying on clothes.
And here is the highlight of my day—perhaps of the whole time I’ve been
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