How much is too much?

If I were to do this blog justice, this post should start at a few months ago and fill few tens of pages. In the last few months life has seen some real highs and some crushing lows.
But the new year brings with it hope. Here’s hoping that this year will give us the same amount of strength to endure that the past years have given us.
But there is an issue that requires elaboration and valuable advice for those who may follow and to begin I must quote the age old adage – health is wealth.
See it started small. Almost imperceptible. I couldn’t fit into a friend’s dress. I bought size 10 jeans instead of size 8. An aunty made a passing comment and asked for ‘reducing’ tips. And slowly a girl that prided herself on eating everything, a healthy girl who was just fine, who could run, read, write and think, just like everyone else – in fact better than some – began to eat next to nothing – and rather quickly, along with precious weight, words like ‘imperceptible’ started vanishing.
I have battled with anemia for as long as I can remember, so at first I thought the one spoon a day or syrup and some multi-V popped in should do the trick. It didn’t. My dad thought that the fact that I looked and sounded exhausted was due to work. The paleness of my skin was due to the bad laptop camera and my irritability was genetic. It wasn’t.
Come December, I dragged my 49 kgs back to Auckland (I really should have just checked myself in, the excess baggage would have cost less than my airfare!) and I still remember the look of shock on my family’s face. I remember the moment of revelation when I shed my heavy winter coats and sweaters and saw myself, for the first time, for what I had become. And of course the tests showed it in black and white just in case I had missed my bones trying to rip through my skin.
Thus began 3 weeks of intense re-hab. Eating three meals, just like I used to, eating cheese, butter, ice-creams and sugar – like normal people do. Getting me back on my feet, getting my mind in order by getting my body in order.
No I was not anorexic, bulimic or any other ‘ic’ – not medically. But slowly I had warped my mind into equating every food with calories, into borderline starvation. All because bloody designers decided to make size 8 the new size 10 and because anorexia became the new ‘model’.
The change has been rapid. Words come to me now, I sleep soundly, am not heard as much but also seen and I can think again! And while it is not yet full and complete and I will not write a book called ‘Weighty Issues – the ‘Iron’y of it all’ or star in a movie called ‘Iron Woman’, i just wanted to put it out there in case E! is reading or Gucci is looking for another stick thin model (before I become normal again!).
On a more serious note – next time you see me and I BS about weight, fatty foods or anything along these lines – you have a free pass to whack me over the head and then buy me a waffle!

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