Measuring up

I measured myself for the first time today.

The first time in two years. Since I lost all that weight and gained it this year.

I have looked at that measuring tape, watching it unravel. Like my life used to when I was 12.
You see, I was never big. Quite the opposite, ‘sweet and petite‘, my teacher once said.
But then we moved from Cape Town to PE and I entered the third Gate of Hell.

Catholic school.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.

My mother was coming out of a ten year relationship and when she could get out of bed, it was a good day. When she could talk to me without screaming, it was a rare day. Depression ft my single mom.
So I hated school and hated being home. I didn’t have the nicest friends.

So what was a girl to do but obsess?

One meal a day for me. Measuring tape to check my progress. I’d keep track via numbers on my thighs, my arms and my waist. Proportions are something I could control, I thought.

Alyx didn’t eat, and no one knew why.

I was a good student, had two friends, went to church but inside I felt like the emptiness made me strong. I could withstand hours. I was better than them.
It only occurred to me how unhealthy this all was when I was 22.
I knew it wasn’t right but my ED didn’t feel like the serious kind.

I was fine, right?

Until my best friend said, ‘I remember when you started eating again

Today I measured myself for the first time in two years and I did not cry.

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