Faded Denim: Color Me Trapped (7 page)

It seems that all the girls signed up for AFI are (1) very pretty,
(2) very thin, and (3) very stuck up. And it’s clear that I do not fit in.

“I shouldn’t have come,” I whisper to Leah as we wait in the registration area. “I don’t belong here.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it, Emily. You’ll be fine.”

“Everyone is skinny,” I tell her.

“Not everyone,” Leah assures me as she discreetly nods toward an area where several more “average” type girls are hanging on the edges, as if they, like me, aren’t comfortable with this crowd. The problem is that, unlike me, they’re not overweight. Okay, they’re not skinny either. But I would much rather be their size than mine. I feel like crying, or running, or maybe jumping out a window.

I’m not even sure how I make it through that first day. I can tell people are looking at me, just like that obese woman in the plane. Some are disgusted, some feel sorry for me, and others just can’t figure out why I’m here. Neither can I. But, I tell myself, I’m doing it for Leah. I even convince myself that it’s a spiritual sacrifice, like “laying down your life for a friend.” Jesus said there was no greater gift to give. I just hope that Leah appreciates it. I also hope she knows that she owes me one now. Make that ten or twenty. She owes me big-time for this.

I try not to complain too much. I realize that I could totally ruin this time for Leah and, after all, it’s her aunt who’s paying for these two weeks of torture. So I pray a lot, at least to begin with. I continually ask God to strengthen me. And I believe that he does. I also pretend like this is just a big lesson in humility and that I will be a bigger person (hopefully not physically) afterward. I try to embrace a good sense of humor—mostly making fun of and laughing at myself, which I am getting rather good at. I don’t hide the fact that the only reason I came was so Leah would get to come. And I
think some people actually respect this and don’t expect too much of me. Like I’m the homely chaperone and not really a student.

Ironically, some of the girls—the stunningly beautiful, sickeningly skinny girls—begin to accept me. In fact, I think they might even like me. Okay, maybe it’s because they like how fantastic they look standing next to the fat chick. I don’t know. Regardless, I do try to laugh and play along, and I never let on that I’m dying underneath. I feel like the modeling-class clown—the one with the sad face beneath the cheery makeup and big red nose. It’s pathetic.

As the first week passes, I realize I am actually learning some things. I know how to use makeup to make my face appear thinner—how to highlight and shade areas to “sculpt” a more attractive look. I know about exfoliation, which is supposed to make your skin glow when you remove old, dead cells, but I’m hoping it will actually slim me down if I scrub hard enough. Who knows? I’ve also learned how to sit, stand, and walk more gracefully, and in a way that should make me appear thinner and taller, although I have my doubts.

But the biggest thing I’ve learned—the thing that could be the key to change—is how to
really
lose weight. There seem to be several foolproof methods, which these girls don’t seem too concerned about revealing to me—probably because I am not the competition. And so I begin to experiment. Of course, I don’t tell Leah about this, since she adamantly believes there’s only one right way to do it. She continues to insist that a “healthy diet with lots of fruits and vegetables and whole grains, plus a moderate amount of daily exercise and lots of water” is the only way to safely lose weight. Well, hey, maybe it works for her, but I wasn’t impressed with only losing three pounds.

I’ve come to accept that there is a secret formula to losing weight. Actually there are several ways, but I don’t want to use drugs, so that
leaves two that seem to really work: (1) You quit eating all foods except for green salads topped with lemon juice, and lots of diet sodas, or (2) you binge, eating everything in sight (when no one is looking), and then throw it up afterward (also when no one is looking).

Okay, this hasn’t been exactly easy for me to accept these new eating habits. For one thing, food has been one of my best friends for quite some time now. How can I possibly give it up completely? Surviving on air (or salad greens and diet soda) like some of these stick girls do seems pretty unrealistic for me. Skipping a meal here and there, well, I’m finding that’s doable. But then I’m so ravenous that I can’t control myself at the next meal. So I binge. Really binge. I nearly emptied out one of the hotel’s snack machines last night. Of course, I got rid of it shortly afterward. But then I felt guilty. I still feel a little bit guilty. Like what am I doing here? Didn’t I use to think this was wrong? But I tell myself this is just an experiment—I want to see how my body reacts to a change like this. Who knows? Maybe it won’t even work.

Another vital ingredient of this secret formula is that you must exercise fanatically, wherever and whenever possible. Even if it’s just “fidgeting” as Leah calls it—because “as everyone knows, fidgeters burn calories.” And burning calories is what it’s all about. There are quite a few girls who religiously refuse to use elevators. Even though our rooms are all on the seventeenth floor, they will use only the stairs to get up or down. The first time I tried this, I had to quit after only five flights, and I thought I was going to die. I did a little better the second and third times. After almost a week, I can consistently get at least halfway up. My goal is to make it all the way up by the end of our two weeks. Some of the girls also rely on the fitness center and swimming pool during free times. I don’t mind
working out at the fitness center so much, but I refuse to get into a swimsuit in front of this crowd. Thankfully, I didn’t even pack one, which provides a pretty good excuse.

So for the time being, I’ve designed my own weight-loss plan, which includes lots of exercise and alternating between starvation and B&B (binge and barf). Or, as a girl from Indianapolis puts it, I’m an “Ana Mia,” which is a girl who uses both anorexia and bulimia, but I think she’s overstating things.

I don’t like to call these “diets” by their medical terms, because I don’t honestly believe that’s what I’m doing. Anorexics and bulimics choose a way of life. If anything, this is only a temporary situation for me—just a means to an end. After I lose my weight, which I’m now more determined than ever to do, I will follow Leah’s example. I will eat and exercise sensibly. But until that time, I feel a need for drastic measures.

Some of the girls, the ones who seem to like me or like being seen with me, are even giving me helpful tips.

“Drink lots of coffee, it’ll make you hyper and you’ll burn more calories.”

“Make sure you eat plenty of dairy products when you binge . . . it’ll help to protect your esophagus when you throw up.”

“Brush your teeth after barfing so the acid doesn’t eat the enamel off.”

“Use laxatives if you get tired of barfing. It’s called purging and it cleans your body out.”

“Take diuretics if you need to lose weight fast, like for photos.”

Okay, some of this stuff was pretty overwhelming at first. But the more I hear, the more I get used to it.

After twelve days of alternately starving myself and binging/purging (since I still can’t decide which method I prefer), I experience
a little scare today. I am going up the stairs when I get so light-headed that I almost pass out. I actually see stars or fuzzy spots in front of my eyes, and I have to sit down right there on the stairs and put my head between my legs. I’m not sure how long I do this, but when I finally lift my head up, I do feel a little worried. I see that I’m on the fifteenth floor, and just to be safe, I decide to take the elevator up to my room.

Fortunately Leah and everyone else are still downstairs being fitted for the big fashion show tomorrow, the grand finale of modeling school (and I am playing hooky since I really don’t want to participate, and because I have no plans to become a professional model, no one really cares whether I participate in everything anyway).

So, feeling a little worried about my health, in general, I go into our room to lie down for a few minutes. I immediately think I should pray, since that’s what I usually do when I feel worried or scared or sick. But then I stop myself. It’s like I can’t pray about this, like I have this sense that if I pray, I will have to admit that what I’m doing is wrong. And, although I’ve felt sort of guilty about what I’m doing, I’ve been telling myself that it’s not a sin.

I mean, aren’t we supposed to take care of our bodies and treat them like temples? And having an overweight body doesn’t exactly qualify, does it? Wouldn’t God get more glory if I lost this flab and became fit? And so I go round and round until I finally come to the conclusion that this is probably just a lesson in self-discipline for me. For the past year or so, I’ve been careless about eating (or overeating), and I think that food has become far too important to me—like it is a god or something. And I know that God doesn’t want that for me. So I decide that losing this weight really is the right thing to do. But I have to admit that it’s still kind of hard to pray. Although I do manage to bumble along.

I start feeling better, and I think that God is answering my prayer. And suddenly I feel energized and I want to go down to the fitness center while most of the machines will be available, since the girls are probably still trying on clothes.

And here is the highlight of my day—perhaps of the whole time I’ve been here—since no one is around to see me, I get on the scales and weigh myself. And to my astonished delight, I have lost ten pounds! That’s ten pounds plus the three I’d lost previously for a total of thirteen! I can hardly believe it and double-check to make sure I’ve got the weights in the right places. But it’s true!

So now I know that these methods really do work. And while I’m sure that Leah meant well with her more careful weight-loss plan for me, I think she’d have to agree that this is better. Way better! Although I don’t plan on telling her anytime soon.

But here’s what totally rocks—I feel powerful. As I’m working out, and really going hard at it, I feel like I finally have some control over my life. Like I have the upper hand over my body now. Like I have really accomplished something—something big. And, I realize as I’m jogging on the treadmill, this is just the beginning.

I make sure to drink plenty of water during and after my workout. And then I even take the stairs again, without fainting this time. I shower and change (noticing my clothes are getting baggy!), and when I go back downstairs to join the other girls for dinner, which I’ve decided to actually eat and then dispense of, I am flying high.

“Why are you so happy?” Leah asks when I find her standing in line for the salad bar.

“I’ve lost more weight,” I tell her.

“Cool!”

“Yeah,” I say. “I guess you were right after all.”

“See, I told you to just be patient. Project Swan is going to work.”

I nod as I load up a plate with everything in front of me.

“But you’re not really going to eat all that, are you?” she looks concerned.

“Well, I worked out for about an hour, and I never had any lunch,” I say.

She considers this. “Well, I guess it’s okay then.”

“And I might work out again before bed,” I add.

“Cool,” she says. “Then I will too. I haven’t even had a chance to exercise yet today.”

There’s supposed to be a speaker tonight—someone who Leah and everyone else are all gaga over—from some big New York modeling agency that I couldn’t care less about. She steps up to the podium just as we’re finishing dinner, and I use the opportunity to slip out to use the restroom. It takes less than a minute to rid myself of tonight’s meal, but I wish I’d thought to bring a toothbrush. The idea of losing the enamel on my teeth is a concern. So I wet a paper towel and do my best to wash my mouth out. Then I go back out and pretend to be interested in what this elegant older woman has to say. But in reality, I’m just thinking about myself and how great I’m going to look in a swimsuit before long if I keep losing weight, which I will. And sure, maybe I won’t look as hot as the girls here, although I personally think some of them are too skinny, but at least I won’t be too embarrassed to go swimming this summer. Maybe I’ll even look good in time for camp, although I can hardly believe that it will be starting next week. And I can hardly believe that I’ve lost thirteen pounds even before camp begins! Life is good.

And then, as I’m sitting there amid all these beautiful girls who are really hoping to make it as professional models, and I have absolutely no aspirations for anything like that at all, I am suddenly overcome with this huge sense of gratitude. So much so that I actually
begin to pray silently in my heart, and I sincerely thank God for helping me to lose this weight. Seriously, it seems like nothing short of a miracle to me! What a high! And I think about how my parents will react to this new me—especially my dad. Maybe he’ll start treating me the way he used to. Maybe this will fix things between us. I am full of hope!