Letters To No One

(Originally published in Mars’ Hill on February 4, 2008)

In late October of my grade 10 year, I weighed over 175 pounds – by early May I was dipping below 135. I’ve got the stretch marks on my chest to prove it.

Most people don’t think about connecting males to disordered eating patterns. At least, not beyond the reverse-female pattern – the Arnold Schwarzenegger body-type with zero per cent body fat. But according to a 2007 Harvard University study, a quarter of all eating disorders occur in men. It exists, as subtle and insatiable as the female version, though given little attention.

I wouldn’t say that I had an eating disorder in the past and neither would I now. But there’s a twisted psychology that comes with self-perceptions and most mental irregularities exist on a spectrum, so knowing when something has gone too far often comes too late.

I’d been accumulating an uncomfortable layer of fat since the end of primary school. I didn’t care much at first. There are benefits that come with heftiness during the elementary years and as a result I didn’t always feel self-conscious. I was the kid who could actually body-slam a dude in epic recess wrestling matches and football games. But when you get into high school, this kind of benefit quickly loses its value as your friends catch up to your size.

Most kids have the awkward weight-gain stage of childhood. I just didn’t make it out of that stage, despite falling in love with long distance running in grade seven. The layer seemed to get thicker every year despite trying to follow the “eat right and exercise regularly” mantra like it was part of the Ten Commandments.

At 15, I started to see what was going on in the world and got into social justice, politics and philosophy. It was that time in adolescence when you start to perceive the world around you in a new way. There’s a lot to question and Sunday school answers don’t relive the tension. It may seem unrelated, but it prompted me to become a vegetarian. That decision came with an added benefit: I was practically cutting off pounds by the handfuls.

It was nice. We live in a culture that hates fat people – unless they can make us laugh. I was tired of making people laugh. But you don’t go from being overweight to underweight in six months simply by following a vegetarian diet.

I bottomed out at 128 pounds over that summer break. I found out in November of grade eleven that most of my grade thought I had an eating disorder. “No,” I’d say, unsure if I was lying or not. “I just went vegetarian and it cut off the excess that I couldn’t get rid of before. But you’re right – I’m trying to put on some more weight. I eat meat now, but I think my metabolism must have changed.” It had changed, so much that keeping my weight above 145 pounds was a major achievement, even when I came out of the darkness.

If you’ve been thicker than everyone else for most of your life, wearing a t-shirt that says “I Am Brad Pitt” because your abs aren’t, finally attaining something close to perfection easily alters perceptions. Thin is perfection, society says. It was thrilling. I was finally thin.

And it turned into a process of being as thin as possible. That thrill took me past the point of healthy and into dangerous, though I didn’t know it was dangerous. I thought it was a game. When I’d weigh myself, I’d always think I could get it a little lower. I liked what was happening to my body. I had never seen my ribs pressed against my skin before. I had never had a flat stomach, let alone an inverted one.

But there was a deeper source for all the stupid games: God had disappeared. Months had gone by, then a year. I read the Bible and prayed – all the things that evangelicals told me to do – but none of them worked. I was trying to find Him and He wasn’t there.

There were only two versions of Christianity to choose from, and I couldn’t close the divide between the two. Either you did whatever pleased you but still used the title, or you lived by a set of unattainable standards for perfection. The former being abominable, I subscribed to the lesser evil and attempted perfection every minute of every day, not doing or thinking anything “un-Christian.”

I failed and thought I deserved the pain. I must have done something or been something wrong. The feeling of hunger is felt around the world, so why not push it within myself? I liked feeling hungry, that scraping sensation on the walls of my stomach. I thought somehow my penance could bring me closer to God.

It took breaking down everything I had ever learned or thought about God and what it means to follow Him to get out of the mess. I live with a lot of scars from the process, but I’m not lying when I say atheism saved my life and depression saved my soul. I just didn’t know God was in it all because it took years to understand that He was leading me home.

I have a friend who tells me how much God loves me and I believe her. Because I see now that the god I grew up with isn’t the God Who Is There.