“It’s about undoing everything we’ve learned so we can be what we really are.” – Cheri Rae Russell
Fiction. Based on a True Diet.
by The Lily Maiden
This journal entry is inspired by true events. Some of the characters, names, businesses, incidents, and certain locations and events have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Any similarity to the name, character or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional.
The day I entered the world, I almost suffocated from my mother’s boob. It wasn’t her fault. She has big tits and had never breastfed before. I refused to nurse for six weeks after that, and was fed through a tube in my nose.
I don’t remember any of it, but I do remember my weening. My parents bought me a beautiful dollhouse to celebrate me no longer sucking on my mother’s titties. It was a fun morning. I ate pancakes with chocolate sauce, was told over the breakfast table that I’d soon have a baby brother. He’d never want for food in his life. I wasn’t so lucky.
I went on my first diet when I was eight years old.
My father rarely had time to spend with my brother and me, and my mother somehow had even less, even though she was a stay-at-home mom.
Weight-Watchers was her gospel, and she was my idol. I followed her to every meeting. I listened, enraptured, to stories of how slimming down, shedding pounds, leaving shreds of yourself behind, made you more worthy to walk the earth.
At that time, my mother was allowed 25 points (roughly 1200 calories) each day, and so, that’s what I was allowed too. 1200 calories is less than a starvation diet, but neither of us knew that. We destroyed ourselves together, in the false name of health.
My father praised us. My mother was a trophy wife, and she was fulfilling her duty. I wordlessly followed her, praying that my father would love me if I was pretty enough.
I never was.
Then there was the first time I almost died. Note that if you have anaphlaxis to fish and peanuts, always check what’s in the Udon soup at those tiny Teriyaki houses down in the boonies.
As my mother drove us home to the suburbs, screaming through the phone to the doctor, I closed my eyes and embraced the starry landscape peering out at me through my third eye. There was nothing I wanted more than to delve into it, but my mom shoved Benedryal tablets down my throat, and I was back in a mini-van on my way to see my father.
After glimpsing what paradise could be, my life on earth became a personalized hell. Everything that could potentially go in my mouth was poison. I grew hungrier and hungrier, and more and more terrified.
I was sixteen years old when I was fed through a tube again. This time, the tube poured sugar-water straight into my veins. It wasn’t a fun night.
These days I am often asked if I ever remember a time when food wasn’t the enemy. My answer is always the same. Food has always been the enemy. Yet the important thing is that I’m not the enemy. Sometimes, when the shadows fill my bedroom and the house sleeps, I catch new snapshots of that sacred, starry heaven. I no longer hear its siren call, but I know that it does wait for me. The Morrigan, Hades, and Anubis all stand sentinel to guide me there when the time arrives.
But today I have better things to do than weight and waiting. I have a world to change.