I just did the best thing I could possibly have chosen to do. how often does a person get to say that? and it feels so good...
I was totally wrecked - crying, hurting, the works. I was trying to talk it out, (to the people I carry around in my head/ heart) and eventually I decided to talk to someone in a more traditional manner. So I took out my little phone book, and I looked through it, and ...well, if I have your number, I thought about calling you. And if I have an outdated number, I was really pissed that I couldn't consider calling you. I couldn't figure out who to call. I thought about leaving the doctor a long, quavery message and letting it go at that, but for all of my thinking my hands weren't cooperating, weren't dialing any numbers. And then I decided I'd call my sister. I had to decide it, like, ten times. Eight before I actually called her. Nine when I hung up mid-dial and decided to try again. And ten when I told myself that if I would just let it ring, it'd be ok, and if she wasn't home, I'd call someone else. I never call Sarah at home because Sarah's never at home. in fact, this is probably only the first or second time that I've called her new number, called her at the apartment in Brooklyn, which seems rather symbolic now. a new number. I just... I haven't called Sarah in a "wrecked" moment in... well, in years. I've leaned so much on my transgenetic family and so little (generally) on my family of origin. and that's valid, and I still need to do some differentiating, develop some autonomy, etc - but when it comes down to it, I'm pretty certain I'm going to want to be a part of my original family as well as my new one.
anyway. over the past few years, I've only really leaned hard on Sarah when I was visiting her or when she was visiting here (and that second one mainly refers to pre-Rogers, when I was way-sick and she was around.) I know that I know some of the reasons I chose that, but I don't really remember any of them right now. all I know is... tonight, for the first time in years, I got really upset and I called my big sister. I called my sister. and yeah, I had to explain some of the things that other friends would have immediately understood, and sometimes she started talking just as I caught my breath to say something myself... but she also got it in a way that no one could. she's the only sister I've had since I was born, and that's a big deal. her own feelings about eating disorders and the media (separately and where they overlap) are what they are mainly because of me. mainly because I'm her sister, and I got really sick, and she had to deal with that. ...and when I went to hang up, when she was saying we should talk later, and "I love you" in this ("you know? I really do") sort of voice, I was just like... I'm so glad I called my sister. and now I'll always have done it before. I'll never have to call her, sort of wrecked, for the first time in years again. most probably, that is...
The Lovely Sarah. The eighth note to my butterfly...
so I guess I can type some sort of explanation of what actually happened. it involves another lovely "it'll never be the first time again" achievement: I went to the pool by myself for the first time today. Mom was at work, so I wasn't meeting her, and she wasn't meeting me. I didn't have the best time. when I first got there, the lifeguard wasn't one I know, and the only people around were the brother and sister pair with their 60-something (?) babysitter, who's very childlike in some ways. she's recovering from a stroke; I'm not sure if that's why. oh, also the older woman's daughter - who's a few years older than me and of a very different personality... anyway. I staked out a spot sort of away from everyone, and lay there for awhile because we're just coming out of a strangely cool stormy-patch, and the day required you to soak in a good amount of sunlight before going near the water. after awhile, a second girl - also "almost eleven" (the sister-brother pair are "almost eleven" and eight, respectively) showed up with a guardian, and she and the first girl instantly bonded in that exclusive way that only two preteens with a younger sibling around can manage. I overheard a lot of their conversation: apparently Brad Pitt is so hot, The Mexican is great, and if you haven't seen him in Troy, you're missing out. (it's good to stay informed.) eventually, my Russian women began to show up, and I felt a little more comfortable. I feel safer when the Russian women are around. I finally got in the water, and played around for a little while... and that's when I overheard the part of the conversation that made me wish my ears were bad instead of my eyes.
Solo-Girl and Sister-Girl were talking, with Sister-Girl's little brother hovering nearby, begging to be given attention. (he was really having a hard time this morning. the lifeguard was against him, and that hurt, as his babysitter and sister were against him, and Solo Girl's presence only amplified the sister's decision to be annoyed by him.) finally Sister-Girl told him to sit down, and he sat down on the chair right by them, and a few moments later, I heard Solo-Girl tell 8-Boy that he needed to start wearing a t-shirt when he came to the pool. I heard him ask why, didn't hear the response, heard Sister-Girl laugh, and saw 8-Boy stand up. he said, "I do not!" and then - because, hey, he'd wanted attention - he started pulling in his stomach and pushing it out. apparently, Solo-Girl had told him he had too much of a belly. or a "roll." so they began to talk about "rolls." about whether or not Sister-Girl had one, about Sister Girl's friend who had four - no, three of them... I tried not to listen and 8-Boy, bless him, went off to find other entertainment. at which point Sister-Girl said something like, "What if somebody thinks that about us?" What if people think we have too much stomach, too much belly, too much body, that we're fat? (For the record? These three kids obviously spend all their time running around in the sun, and none of them are even in danger of being in danger of having a weight problem at the moment.) So I wanted with all of my might to go over to these girls, either to the end of the pool they were sitting by, or to walk up to them, dripping, and ask what the point of this conversation was. So, seriously, why are we talking about this? Why are we thinking this? ...And what really sucked wasn't simply that I couldn't do so - that I was too intimidated, shy, phobic, insecure, etc - but that even if all those barriers had been removed, I don't think I could have talked to them. Because I don't know what to say. How can I not know what to say? But I don't. I don't know how to explain to them that they're surrounded by a culture that's trying to hurt them, so that they'll be more easily exploited, without sounding like a total freak and not getting through at all. I don't know how to explain to them that the media and the culture that contributes to/ draws from it, is a threat in a way they'll take seriously. I don't know how to explain why I care, or why I get so upset over something as small as their conversation, without explaining that I have an eating disorder, that I know a lot of people with eating disorders, and that two of my friends have died from them. Which just adds to the "eating disorders are about media pressure, are about the need to be thin" misconception that I despise. What it came down to was the fact that these girls were at-risk, just by being alive - by being members of their demographic, and there was nothing I could do to protect them. Nothing.
I meant to type: I went to the pool, these two girls were talking about weight and whether or not they weighed too much, and even though I wanted to talk to them, I didn't know what to say - which sucked. (Yeah. Word economy is not my forte.)
mmm... and right now the lead singer of Lifehouse is saying, "there goes the world off of my shoulders. there goes the world off of my back," and that's so very relevent, too. but I feel like it's less confusing chronologically...
so I came back from the pool after about an-hour-and-a-half, experienced the Return of the Migraine Demons, which meant sleeping for a couple of hours and eventually came back to my inferior alternative to socialization: this computer.
(oh, my gosh... how did we end up at "Somewhere in Between" already? I'm going to cry... breathe. Dave. played this song when I left. story of my pre-Rogers life. reason I bought the cd. breathe...)
I went to Yahoo News (by the way - yahoo! on suddenly being given 25x the mail space for free) because I'd been reading Boondocks and I was wondering about the details behind the comments regarding Ralph Nader in the recent cartoons. I read up on it... and then I saw what looked very much like a tabloid news cover with a picture of Mary-Kate Olsen, and a caption about her going into treatment for an eating disorder. I'll say, partly to keep from indicting myself for my next actions, that my insides collapsed in that second. I saw the photo and the headline, and I was already lost. And then I clicked to see what the stories said and scanning the headlines, I just felt sickened. The majority of the media is treating it like they finally have a way to distinguish between the two Olsen twins. There's the one with anorexia and the one without it. Because, you know, she's not an individual. She and her sister have never been individuals as far as the media and the population and their fans and their non-fans are concerned. They're a unit. Half the headlines, already sick for preying on the shock-value of an 18-yr-old's illness, refer to her simply as "anorexic Olsen twin." What the fuck is that? ...Because, you see, they're not really people. There's a story either way; it doesn't matter which one got sick - the story is that *one of them* did. I was ill. I was upset with myself for even reading through some of the bullshit, and then watching another helping of the bullshit on the news - because here I am, consuming the story, at the same time I'm attacking the people who're feeding it to me, and the people who are entertained by it. But I don't really think it was wrong of me to see how people are discussing it. No one's helped by my refusal to acknowledge that the media is being idiotic, or that this *is* "entertainment news" because this girl *is* a celebrity. I filter my media intake for my own benefit, not to take a stand of some sort. and I think the difference between boycotting something and simply avoiding it lies in knowledge of said something. I cared, I wanted to know what was going on, I wanted to know how the general media was reacting to it, and I also want to know how the organizations promoting ed awareness and treatment were reacting. before today, I had what I considered an amusing guilty secret: that I'm secretly fascinated by the Olsen twins. why? I don't know. they're a year younger than me, so for a long time what they did in their movies was what I wanted to be doing. they were my age, but living a very different life. and even when that difference became too dramatic for me to find their work (sit-coms, movies) interesting, I was still interested in *them.* These two girls, who'd spent their entire lives growing up in front of the media, with a single identity. What would they do - when they turned 18, when they became adults, with access not only to all that money but all that *power?* I don't know. There's something more visceral than that, but it doesn't want to be articulated. pre-verbal, the doctor says. (no, I have not talked to the doctor about the Olsen twins. yet.)
and if you flip the channel after the news finishes showing Mary Kate's evident emaciation (as Sarah pointed out, "they would have been using that same photo to say how cute she was, before this came out") - there's an eight-year-old Michelle on "Full House." I turned it off. and I didn't know exactly why I was crying. obviously, I hate the media, hate them for saying, "there's so much pressure to be thin in Hollywood" and "when 'New York Minute' didn't do so well in the box office, she took it really hard" - as if that's why, as if anyone fucking knows *why*. not saying the pressures of celebrity couldn't be contributing - or even "the main and only reason!" - I'm just saying, "what the hell?" they don't know, and they're making it up. they're contributing to stupid, stupid, untrue assumptions that have been handed down like the truth for too long. and that pissed me off. but I wasn't crying because I was pissed off. I was crying because of how hurt I felt. and here's the basic summary of why:
I ended up with an eating disorder. I didn't see it coming, and I doubt most of the people who knew me before the age of 13 did either. to this day, I get caught up in the innaccurate version of "why people have eating disorders" and go, "what the fuck? how did this happen?" ...I got help at the best treatment facility in the fucking world. I met people that I care about more than I can believe is possible most of the time. And I want with everything in me to believe that we, that group of us - fighting and winning and losing - are the last ones. The last generation. The last people to ever have to deal with this. I want it to be ending, and it's not. There are people in hospitals now. There are people waiting to get into hospitals, people who can't, people who don't know they need to, people who haven't been diagnosed, people who aren't getting help, people who are just starting to get sick, and people who are completely healthy right now and will at some point be very, very sick with this.
that's when I lost it. the helplessness. the fact that - having no reason to suspect that either one of the two girls I witnessed talking today will develop an eating disorder - I still couldn't certify it. I couldn't protect them in any way. I couldn't give them anything, a single soundbyte to hold in their memory, an amulet to protect them from all of this BILE... people are still getting sick. Sara's friend Kate just died, and people are still getting sick. we're making it and we're not and it isn't ending.
Sarah did a very good job of letting me bawl and of pointing out that there *are* people and organizations working to challenge this, to change this. There are people working to make sure that eating disorders are not dirty secrets *or* accepted behavior. Campaigns are being launched, developments are being made, we are doing things. And in the meantime, well, we love... with the people in our lives... and we pray that everyone will do the same so that everyone will have the same.
It wasn't until I got off the phone that I realized I called my sister to talk about this - to talk about what's happening to these girls who are probably the most famous sisters in America. and that wasn't the only reason it was right, but it was a reason I felt good. because it meant something to be with my sister, who went through this (and is going through this) with me, as we talked about it. because, you know, they are people after all. which is why from this point on, I'm going to make an effort to do what I wish the news would: to start focusing hella more about media and eating disorder awareness recovery and less about this particular case. because all that I have the right to say when it comes to Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen, so far as I'm concerned, is this:
I hope she gets better. I hope she's at a treatment facility as kick-ass as Rogers, and I hope with my whole heart she's transformed as completely as I've been. I hope Ashley is held onto around her own role in this, that her pain isn't overlooked or considered secondary, and that she and her sister - and everyone else who's *truly* involved are able to do what they need to in privacy and peace.
Fuck every magazine that makes this about anything other than that. I hope we heal.
~me