Spring Break
Georgia's personal autobiographical story [DOCUMENT]
Issue date: 2/26/09 Section: News
Editor's note: The name Georgia, used in this story, is a pseudonym.
This was about two years ago, when I had just transferred to CSU. I saw a valentine's card, one of those cheesy ones at Safeway, and on the front was this massive colorful striped heart, with bold letters "Where is Your Heart?" I thought it was cute, no big deal, and kept walking, but that card stayed with me. I had no energy, not much excitement, very few friends and not much other than a whole lot of pain beneath a charming exterior.
I struggled with disordered eating and being unhappy with my body for as long as I can remember. I grew up trying to make my unhappy father happy, and my 112 pound marathon-running mother proud of me. Both I found to constantly torture me and keep me furiously disappointing myself. To control the life that I couldn't control, I grew dependent and obsessive about food, weight and becoming more perfect. The harder I worked and closer I seemed to get, the more loneliness and fear seem to rule my life. If people kept telling me how great I looked, I must be loveable. My life will turn out right if I'm perfect. I became very thin, very tired, and very isolated. I had never received so much attention from my parents, from guys, and even from my long-time friends. I was ever more perfect on the exterior, but I no longer got a period, I was always cold, and was consumed by desperation and determination to be thin. Thin had every power over me. I could not deal with my pain. I didn't know how else to go about it than to physically deteriorate. I was small and weak inside, so it made sense to match the outside.
My 73 year old dad just got married for the fifth time. She is beautiful, very petite, full of energy, and never going to make my unhappy father happy. I tried from the time I was a little girl until I was nineteen years old.
I am so proud to be my dad's daughter. I'm so much like him too. He is absurd and inappropriate at times, much more honest than necessary, and has the driest and most punching sense of humor I've ever met. He's intelligent and so handsome, and has the most unique and charismatic art collection. My dad is a 73 year old man, and he's still a very hurt little boy. He is filled with pain. His father died when he was 17, he got a sum of money that allowed him to never work, and he never achieved a sense of self-worth. My dad did not have to work for anything, he didn't earn what he had; security and a lifetime of wealth was given to him at age seventeen. He didn't work much, he never found what he loved, and he never really got to know himself. He never had to struggle, or make tough decisions, because money seemed to always bail him out, and provide a comfortable and exciting life-style to keep him busy.
This was about two years ago, when I had just transferred to CSU. I saw a valentine's card, one of those cheesy ones at Safeway, and on the front was this massive colorful striped heart, with bold letters "Where is Your Heart?" I thought it was cute, no big deal, and kept walking, but that card stayed with me. I had no energy, not much excitement, very few friends and not much other than a whole lot of pain beneath a charming exterior.
I struggled with disordered eating and being unhappy with my body for as long as I can remember. I grew up trying to make my unhappy father happy, and my 112 pound marathon-running mother proud of me. Both I found to constantly torture me and keep me furiously disappointing myself. To control the life that I couldn't control, I grew dependent and obsessive about food, weight and becoming more perfect. The harder I worked and closer I seemed to get, the more loneliness and fear seem to rule my life. If people kept telling me how great I looked, I must be loveable. My life will turn out right if I'm perfect. I became very thin, very tired, and very isolated. I had never received so much attention from my parents, from guys, and even from my long-time friends. I was ever more perfect on the exterior, but I no longer got a period, I was always cold, and was consumed by desperation and determination to be thin. Thin had every power over me. I could not deal with my pain. I didn't know how else to go about it than to physically deteriorate. I was small and weak inside, so it made sense to match the outside.
My 73 year old dad just got married for the fifth time. She is beautiful, very petite, full of energy, and never going to make my unhappy father happy. I tried from the time I was a little girl until I was nineteen years old.
I am so proud to be my dad's daughter. I'm so much like him too. He is absurd and inappropriate at times, much more honest than necessary, and has the driest and most punching sense of humor I've ever met. He's intelligent and so handsome, and has the most unique and charismatic art collection. My dad is a 73 year old man, and he's still a very hurt little boy. He is filled with pain. His father died when he was 17, he got a sum of money that allowed him to never work, and he never achieved a sense of self-worth. My dad did not have to work for anything, he didn't earn what he had; security and a lifetime of wealth was given to him at age seventeen. He didn't work much, he never found what he loved, and he never really got to know himself. He never had to struggle, or make tough decisions, because money seemed to always bail him out, and provide a comfortable and exciting life-style to keep him busy.
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