15 years of "Losing Weight" as a New Year's Resolution

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I was hospitalized for three weeks in third grade for a stomach bug turned into a psychological nightmare. I thought I had cancer and did not eat for several months. When I went into my well-child check-up, and to our glee I had lost weight, my mother said, "That's one way to do it!" I knew I had done something right.

114 lbs

Weight in my family is a comfortable topic among women. In sixth grade, I ask my friend Kassie if she has ever weighed more than 120 lbs. She laughs nervously, looks at her sneakers, and grimaces. Kassie is slightly bigger than me. Her mother takes us both shopping and I am surprised that I look good in everything. I am not used to that. Kassie cries in the corner, and her mother glares at me and asks me not to try on the same clothes that Kassie likes. I am surprised, but I agree. Did I do something wrong?

Two months later, my mother tells me Kassie has an eating disorder. "I wish I could have that kind of problem," she laughs. "That takes self-control." I am 11 years old.

120 lbs
I buy new pants. I look cute. My mother and father sit me down and say that I can't wear pants that don't have pockets in the butt because it "draws too much attention to my figure." I have to return them. I am not sure my mother agrees—but we do it anyways.

132 lbs
We go to Aristotle to try on jeans with some of my Christmas money. I will not come out
of the dressing room in the Size 9s. I am mortified. "You are a Size 7," my mother says. She buys the smaller jeans. "These will be something to work for." I am 14 years old.

122lbs
I stop eating breakfast or lunch. I write sad things in my diary about wanting to weigh 99 lbs. "If you have a problem, then why don't you weigh 99 lbs?" my mother asks. The size 7 jeans don’t fit anymore. They are too big.

120 lbs
I go on a school trip to Nigeria. There are plain pieces of white paper tacked on the walls with instructions on how to die well if you are dying from AIDS.

How To Die Well
1. I am sorry.
2. Forgive Me.
3. I forgive you.
4. Thank you.
5. I love you.
6. Goodbye.

I don't think about my weight for three weeks.

160 lbs
"You can eat all the cheese and meat and cream you want! You will still lose weight!" My mother sits me down at the kitchen table with a rotisserie chicken.
She takes a butcher knife and cuts it in half. We eat it. We eat some cheese. We eat some ice-cream.

I work in a small sandwich shop. I have been “good” for several weeks” I make myself a sandwich with wheat bread, turkey, tomato, lettuce. No cheese. I know I am "sabotaging myself." This has to be healthier though, right?

149 lbs*
I feel comfortable at this weight. My tight jeans are just a little bit baggy. I feel pretty. I feel not hungry. I am 18.

My mother and father sit me down to discuss a "serious problem." They are "very concerned" with my weight, and think I need to "get healthier" and "just a little more active." My mother weighs about 200 lbs at this point. I tell them not to worry about it.

My mother takes my little sister shopping for a prom dress. The dress is two sizes too small. Something to work for.

117 lbs
Grad school is stressful. I take my grandmother to watch World War Z. I asked her if she preferred the Pixar film that was out. She wanted to see the zombie movie. I sprung for the 3-D version. Grandma is 82. She wants popcorn and I tell her to buy some. She eats quickly, like she is ashamed, like she is hiding how much she is consuming. "I should not  be eating this," she says, her face flushing from her perceived indulgence. I touch her arm softly, recognizing my mother's shame on my grandmother's face. "If not now Grandma, when?"

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I am not keeping track of my weight right now. I am happy. I am 24.  I come home for Christmas, and my mom says "I got fat" by way of greeting me. "You are beautiful," I say. And she is beautiful.

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I come home for my sister's wedding. My sister has purchased a wedding dress two sizes too small. She is thin for her wedding. My mother has not eaten in 20 days in preparation. They do look really beautiful. Happy (right?) I don’t bring my girlfriend to the wedding- she wouldn’t be welcome in Ohio. I drink a little too much at the ceremony, and cry during my toast. My sister laughs to her new husband. I am definitely the heaviest in the wedding party. I have to have my dress let out. I did not purchase a dress too sizes too small, and I have gained some weight. Working out hurts, and I don't like to do it. I have developed a taste for craft beer. I examine a photograph of myself when I was 16 years old. I am struck by how very average I am. I am not as huge as I remember. My arms are a little too thin.

171 lbs
I step on the scale for the first time in over two years. My clothes are tight, and it is uncomfortable. I brought my on-again off-again girlfriend Anna as close to home as I have been with someone I have dated. We make it as far as Cleveland, and social media tells us that my family celebrated New Year’s Eve  together while we stayed at my vaguely homophobic but well-meaning aunt’s house in Milwaukee.

My mother insists it is "weird" that I want to to bring her around my hometown. We have been trying "this" for 2.5 years. I am angry. I pick fights with my girlfriend. My mind picks fights with myself.

My mother doesn't want to talk much about Anna. She is happy to discuss how she is "eating healthy" again.

I eat a doughnut, mozzarella sticks, Arby's roast beef sandwich, and a chocolate shake on the 11 hour car ride home. I joke about how I am "eating my feelings." Anna does not laugh. It is not that funny. For dinner we have ramen. I like pork belly. "Tomorrow I am going to pay for this," I say. My girlfriend grabs my hand. We drive.

January 2, 2016- Goal Weight: 128 lbs*

"I am sorry I got fat," I whisper. I am eating spinach with eggs. Goddamn it, I hate dieting. My sister hasn’t called. My mother hasn’t called.

"You are beautiful," Anna says. I try to believe her.

I buy some new jeans with some of my Christmas money. Two sizes too small. Something to work for.