Hungry

I grabbed another slice of pizza from the box. I knew 2 slices earlier that I would regret every single bite I took, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was how it tasted. It didn’t matter that I had spent nearly two months eating a minute amount of calories and injecting myself with an appetite suppressing hormone to lose the 25 pounds. It mattered that eating it made me feel happy in that moment.

I took another bite, beginning to feel the weight in my stomach… the weight that comes when you know you have eaten way too much… the weight that makes you want to unbutton your pants, put on your largest pair of sweats, and curl up in bed watching pointless reality TV.

But I ignored it, focusing instead on the cheese, and the sauce, and the delicious crispy bread. It didn’t matter that I would feel sick, and guilty, and horrible about eating half of a large pizza within 30 minutes.

But it matters now.

I consider myself to have an eating disorder. An eating disorder is classified as “a group of conditions characterized by abnormal eating habits that may involve either insufficient or excessive food intake to the detriment of an individual's physical and emotional health.”

Abnormal eating habits. That would definitely be me, although I doubt I am as abnormal as some would think, considering the number of Americans who are obese. I have dealt with episodes of both insufficient and excessive food intake for my entire life; one to attempt a drastic weight loss, the other to satisfy my incessant cravings. Every once in a while I will try to eat nothing for a day or two, but I always realize how bad it is for me and my metabolism… just before stuffing my face with something that is just as bad for me as not eating. Some other times I have eaten and felt immediately guilty, so I will go throw up. I want to be clear that I am not bulimic. I have only done this on a handful of occasions over the past 10 years… but even that handful is too many.

I am approximately 50 pounds over the top point of a health weight range for someone my height, and all I can focus on is the fact that I am hungry. I am hungry all the time. ALL. THE. TIME. And the only way I can make the hunger go away is to stuff myself so full that I can only focus on how full I am, and curl up in my jammies and watch reality TV.

I have great goals for myself on how tomorrow will be. Gym in the morning, lots of fruits and veggies and protein, take a walk during lunch and again after I get home from work. Always tomorrow. And occasionally I can follow through on those goals. But only for a limited time. Only long enough that I have dropped 10-15 pounds, or until I can see the puffiness has left my face. Then it is right back to stuffing myself and laying around watching TV.

I am telling you this because I am looking for help. I am looking to someone who has been through this to give me advice, to give me a book name, to give me prayers.

I am hungry... not just for food, but for happiness and a desire to be healthy. I want to love the body I have been so destructive towards. Please help me do that.

Poet. Pirate. Pilgrim. President.

One of my dad’s favorite stories to tell me as a child was that we (the Collett Family) are descendants of a famous poet, a well known pirate, a pilgrim, and a president. I always rolled my eyes because even though my dad tells some outlandish stories that can only be true because he is Steve Collett, this one just always seemed a little far-fetched. It also didn’t help that he couldn’t remember any of their names, considering it was something he was so proud of. A poet, a pirate, a pilgrim and a president. I couldn’t care less unless one of them was Irish.

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be Irish. My friend Whitney has the most beautiful, deep, dark, red hair, and I am always jealous of the gingers that walk around with their heads gloriously aflame. But, alas, the light, strawberry tones in my mane are barely recognizable. Even my boyfriend tells me I am blonde (which I am not, bee-tee-double u). If I can’t be a red-head, I would at least settle for a super obvious last name, like an O’Malley, O’Brien, or McLaughlin… basically any of the O’s or Mc’s would do. Or maybe Doyle, or Finnegan (although, I think Jillian Finnegan sounds like a cartoon name). My good friend Laura Roland had the most beautiful maiden name – McGranaghan.

But no… I am just a frumpy, blonde, Collett.

That’s how I felt about where I came from until about 3 months ago, when I met the Collett family for a huge birthday celebration at a swanky Laguna Beach restaurant. It was the first time since my cousin Dana’s wedding in 2004 that I could remember this many of us being together, and it was the first time I was old enough to drink with everyone, as well as the first time anyone took me seriously as a young adult.

It was probably one of the most wonderful evenings I have had in my life. Not only were we all incredibly loud and obviously intoxicated, but my face hurt so bad when I left from laughing so hard, I could still feel it the next day.

I have always felt a little bit insecure about who I am. I am short, tubby and have a HUGE personality. I laugh loudly, crack inappropriate jokes, and I can be pretty damn crass. I enjoy hard alcohol in the right company and drink quickly. I’m very liberal for a Christian, and I live and love passionately, and unapologetically. These are all things I actually really enjoy about myself.

But when I spend time with my mom’s family, I always feel a little out of place. All of them are super-super religious conservative, look down on drinking, and most of them are easily irritated and quickly offended. Most of the things that come out of my mouth are considered rude, obnoxious or offensive. I spend most of our family gatherings either on edge trying to fit in, or purposefully trying to piss everyone off because I am sick of censoring myself. I always loved this group of people, but was very unsure of how I fit into the family.

On that night in June, as the Collett Family was sitting around 5 tables squished together, drinking, laughing, telling jokes and stories (some of them too outlandish to be true, but WERE in fact true) I finally realized where I am from. I finally understood where I fit in, why I am who I am.

I’m a Collett, and I couldn’t be happier, or more proud.

I Don't Want To

I hate my body.

I ate like a fatty yesterday, and the worst part wasn’t even that I ate so much food I felt sick. The worst part was that I felt sick the entire time I was eating.

Normally, when I’m going to eat a lot of Italian food or burgers or anything else that is bad for me, I’m hungry when I start and by the end of the meal I feel stuffed, but I don’t feel sick until 30-60 minutes later. I have always attributed my inability to recognize when I have eaten too much to the fact I am overweight (along with my predilection for carbs). But I came to a literally sickening realization last night as I kept eating after I could feel myself getting so full I was miserable.

I hate my body.

My compulsive overeating is affecting almost every aspect of my life. When I eat too much and too unhealthily to take care of myself, I don’t work as hard at my job, I want to spend all of my time in my apartment away from everyone who might think something about my weight, and my body doesn’t feel up to going to the gym.

And what else happens when I’m eating so much that I feel sick and depressed and ugly? I have a hard time letting my boyfriend love me. I tell him how I feel every so often, but I don’t think he really understands how torn up I am inside.

Every time I go on a diet, it lasts 3-4 weeks, and I’m right back to stuffing my face again.

I am at the very end of my rope… and I don’t know where to go from here. The only thing I know is…

I hate my body…

But I don’t want to anymore.

Discouraged, Yet Hopeful

I have felt incredibly discouraged about not hearing anything from the other 7 graduate schools I have applied to, especially since I have seen on Poets and Writers that several people have been accepted to the schools and programs I applied to. Part of me thinks I should throw in the towel and resign my hopes of getting in anywhere. It would help make it a lot less painful when I get 7 rejection letters, or notices of being placed on a wait-list, which isn't any more fulfilling than not getting in.

But another part of me truly believes I am a gifted and talented writer. Another part of me knows I have what it takes to make it in an MFA program and get out of it exactly what I am looking for. I need to believe in myself more - in my talent and my desire. Maybe that will help me along a little bit.

Critiques and Grace

I wonder when it was that people at this school became so critical of each other. I mean, is it really that important to bluntly and rudely critique someone for being imperfect?

I have been going through some really hard stuff in my personal life recently, and I have found that my tolerance level for being told on a regular basis all the ways in which I am living my life incorrectly, and all of the ways I am screwing up, is at a record low. I just can’t handle it right now.

Recently, I decided to go to counseling. I have been kind of depressed and my self-confidence level has just been plummeting. I walk around with my smiley face plastered on sometimes, but most of the time I have just been down, something that is really beginning to hinder my friendships.

And the hard part is that I know all of the reasons why I am acting this way. I am a “people pleaser,” and I can’t be happy unless other people are happy with me, and this all comes back to my “dad issues.”

It is all a bunch of stuff I have always known, but nothing I have tried to work through. I have just tried to work around it, which was really unhealthy.
I am telling you this because I think it is important for us to take a step back and really see a person before we say something that does anything less than build them up.

I can’t tell you how many times over the past month I have had people say some of the meanest, underhanded, snide, rude and unnecessary comments to me. Obviously, some of that stuff comes with my job to a certain extent, but there is a difference between constructive criticism (aka, words that allow someone a chance to grow) and destructive criticism (aka, words that serve no purpose but to make someone feel horrible).

How many times have I made a joke-y, sarcastic remark to a friend when they were having a hard time and I never realized that it really affected them? How often do we kick people when they are already down?

I was smoking on the curb with my friend Jeff and some people we know, and I asked, “Does anyone else realize how critical people are of each other?” And one of the girls sitting with us said something that made me stop and think. She said, “Yea, but I never really saw it until I came to APU.”

Wow.

We need to be more careful. And please notice, I said ‘we,’ not ‘you.’ I am just as guilty of this as every person on this campus, or in the country, or anywhere else.
Just the other night I sat with my friend Jax at Midnight Madness and made fun of the girls that show up at basketball events in short skirts and high heels, wondering if they are showing up to enjoy the best game on the planet (yes, basketball is my favorite) or if they are showing up to get some attention.

We need to pause for a second and think, is this short, snippy email really going to make a difference? Or is it just going to make someone feel like crap? Is saying this little comment to my friend funny? Or is it an underhanded way of demeaning who they are?

As a school, we need to be a better representation of Christ. I need to be a better representation of Christ.

And we all need to start exercising a little bit more grace.