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| The Reading Room |
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Excerpts: "She's trying to make the want go away. . ."
She's trying to feel better. She's trying to make the want go away. The
food tastes good. It obliterates the want in her mouth like whitewash
obliterating filth on a wall. As long as she keeps pouring the pleasure of
food into her mouth, she doesn't feel the flaying sensation of want.
But when the food is swallowed, the want returns, howling. She doesn't
know why her body feels this way, and she only knows one way to make it
stop.
Afterward, she feels sick. Her full stomach, her full intestine feel like fists
kneading her body from the inside. She wishes she really were ill, so she
could throw up. She's not a purger. Feeling sick is stronger than feeling
want. She'd rather feel sick than feel want. But she also feels shame. She
feels ugly in her fullness. She knows that what she's done is ugly, that she
would turn even her friends away in disgust and pity.
She feels crazy. She knows she's hurting herself. Why can't she stop?
Why won't she stop? She's making herself fat. She desperately wants to
hide her crazy behavior. But what she wants most to hide, she announces
to the world with her own body. Her tears roll down her face, and her
hand shakes as she lifts the full spoon to her lips.
"Thinness itself won't change her life. . ."
She has new habits. She wants to exercise, to eat so that her body feels
clean, light. She doesn’t want her gut to be constantly full of digested
overfeeding. She has more energy, more self-respect. She knows there
are some differences in how thin people are perceived and treated and she
knows she will benefit from them. But thinness itself won’t change her life.
The self-respect will change her life.
Sometimes, when she sees lean women in the gym, a reflexive jealousy
shoots through her but just as quickly dissipates. She knows that when
she reaches her goals, no one will know she used to be obese. She too
might then look like she couldn’t possibly understand the challenge and
pain of being fat. And that won’t be true.
So why should she assume these women couldn’t understand? They’re
humans, hence will suffer or have suffered. Maybe they don’t know fatness
-- but would she want them to? Would she really want others to feel that
horrible, just so they could understand it? There’s plenty of pain without
that, she thinks. And maybe - God, she hopes - there could be plenty of
understanding, too.
food tastes good. It obliterates the want in her mouth like whitewash
obliterating filth on a wall. As long as she keeps pouring the pleasure of
food into her mouth, she doesn't feel the flaying sensation of want.
But when the food is swallowed, the want returns, howling. She doesn't
know why her body feels this way, and she only knows one way to make it
stop.
Afterward, she feels sick. Her full stomach, her full intestine feel like fists
kneading her body from the inside. She wishes she really were ill, so she
could throw up. She's not a purger. Feeling sick is stronger than feeling
want. She'd rather feel sick than feel want. But she also feels shame. She
feels ugly in her fullness. She knows that what she's done is ugly, that she
would turn even her friends away in disgust and pity.
She feels crazy. She knows she's hurting herself. Why can't she stop?
Why won't she stop? She's making herself fat. She desperately wants to
hide her crazy behavior. But what she wants most to hide, she announces
to the world with her own body. Her tears roll down her face, and her
hand shakes as she lifts the full spoon to her lips.
"Thinness itself won't change her life. . ."
She has new habits. She wants to exercise, to eat so that her body feels
clean, light. She doesn’t want her gut to be constantly full of digested
overfeeding. She has more energy, more self-respect. She knows there
are some differences in how thin people are perceived and treated and she
knows she will benefit from them. But thinness itself won’t change her life.
The self-respect will change her life.
Sometimes, when she sees lean women in the gym, a reflexive jealousy
shoots through her but just as quickly dissipates. She knows that when
she reaches her goals, no one will know she used to be obese. She too
might then look like she couldn’t possibly understand the challenge and
pain of being fat. And that won’t be true.
So why should she assume these women couldn’t understand? They’re
humans, hence will suffer or have suffered. Maybe they don’t know fatness
-- but would she want them to? Would she really want others to feel that
horrible, just so they could understand it? There’s plenty of pain without
that, she thinks. And maybe - God, she hopes - there could be plenty of
understanding, too.
| My Other Body: a memoir of love, fat, life, and death by Ann Pai |