...My Ribs Look SO Fat

So do my hip bones.

Dammit...I just don't understand it. All I've had to eat all day is this diet coke and I swear that one calorie should have been burnt up on my run or my trip to the gym or my bike ride across the city... Ewww...look. You can totally see my internal organs through my skin, and they're FAT, too.

...Gross. I am SUCH a whale.

I kid, I kid...really, I don't have an eating disorder. I Don't. Seriously. Don't look at me that way. I don't have an eating disorder...ya, and I know, that is exactly what a person with an eating disorder would say, except, it's true. I do. Not. Have an eating disorder. Stop asking.

It started with my grandmother, who frets over everything and overly involves herself in people's personal information. And then my mother, who uses 'thin' as a synonym for 'flat chested' and so naturally I was insulted. Except shortly thereafter I went down a cup size, and these days it's pretty rare that I wear a bra. My friends were more encouraging: "Well, Kate Moss didn't wear a bra for like 10 years." But...didn't Kate Moss also do a lot of cocaine? My friends avert eye contact. ...Yes.

And then my other friend who had been away for a while was exclaiming over my cheek bones and being extra gentle when she hugged me. And another friend, after watching me eat a big meal, lingered quietly outside of the bathroom, just in case. And then another friend, when we were talking about which celebrities we resembled, said I looked like Mary Kate Olsen, Nicole Richie, and Kate Bosworth. (I am not tall enough to really look like Kate Bosworth.) And then there was a friend who tried the direct approach of catching me off guard...So, you have an eating disorder? No, no I do not, friend. But thank you for caring...I appreciate awkwardness. And now I have to...umm...go.

Yesterday, I went to get a TB skin test for my kickass new exciting job. I'm actually a bit nervous about the results, since my work inevitably involves some exposure to crazy illnesses, but the test itself is relatively painless. The nurse practitioner giving the skin injection was asking me about my work, congratulating me on my new job, and generally being friendly and lovely in a way that nurse practitioners always seem to be. I've had this test three times before and all were negative, which means the point of injection remains boringly normal. So I ask what a positive result looks like...do I break out in a rash? Does my arm turn blue? What happens at the injection spot?

Well, it depends on your immune system's reaction. A normal response will create a medium sized hard lump, and for someone who's immuno-compromised, the lump only has to be half as big to qualify. It's actually not that exciting.

But then the nurse paused, and cocked her head to the side. You're not immuno-compromised, right? Are you healthy?

I nod, yes.

Are you sure? No...umm....immuno-diseases? Do you have an... Eating Disorder?

Not that I know of, I shrug, and she smiles, and she sends me to hang out in the waiting room to fume.

So, people, I notice there seems to be some confusion out there. I'd like to take this opportunity to address it, because, while I really do appreciate your concerns, I Do Not Have An Eating Disorder. Period, full stop, stop asking, for the love of god stop asking, please.

If you MUST know, here are the nitty gritty details of my body weight: I've always been fairly thin. When I'm stressed out, I lose my appetite, and my body tends to go into overdrive so even if I manage to eat exactly the same amounts, I still lose a little bit of weight. So...thin. And then a few months ago, I started up on some happy drugs that, as a side effect, suppress appetite and promote weight loss, and I am none too impressed with the results. Sure, happier, but...rib cage? That was where my boobs used to be. And...ewww...no one should be able to see their kidneys through their skin, no one, ever.

I would like to gain weight. I would like to be at least five pounds heavier, and have boobs, and not be all boney. I try, I really do, but no matter how much cheesecake I eat in a single sitting, it just doesn't seem to be happening for me. So, in the mean time, I'm trying to eat healthier, and exercise, and be happy. And this happiness gets trodden upon daily by your loving concern...because....gah! I don't have an eating disorder...just...believe me. And also, stop picking on thin people in general like that somehow helps to fight anorexia...it's a double standard and not okay and seriously, people, stop.

Whatever.
I'm going to go chop my food up into little tiny pieces now, because the calories count less that way. And then I'll have some time left over to stare at my clavicle because it's looking especially chunky these days and oh my god...so FAT.