10/28/2023

Yesterday I bought my first pair of jeans

To be more specific, I bought my first pair of unconditional jeans

No terms or conditions jeans

I’ve purchased several jeans in the last few decades but not one was free of unattainable standards or criticism

Sometimes the purchase was a reward for my commitment to restrictions

I’d squeeze my calves and relentless ass into this unforgiving fabric

Then I’d feel this sense of accomplishment and satisfaction

Sometimes the purchase was a punishment

To prove to some part of myself I was not enough

Wasn’t committed enough, beautiful enough

So, I’d shove the evidence in my own face

Tell myself how unworthy I was and here were the numbers to prove it

My jeans could only be purchased from the same store

The variation in sizes depending on brands was dangerous for me

It could send me into a deep self-depreciating spiral

It could tell me once again it wasn’t enough

Leading to more punishment

Punishment I was in control of

Punishment I could describe as fair

It made sense, it was tangible

I could predict it

Letting go of control is painfully terrifying

My emotions and body respond like I am to be met some sort of torturous death

I’ve avoided mirrors all my life

Doing my makeup and hair with handheld mirrors

Never having to face,…myself

Showering and getting dressed like I’m in bootcamp

I held record times…

Sometimes I still leave my apartment with things on backwards or mismatched for not double-checking

The feeling is like being pants and then shitting yourself on stage surrounded by 50,000 people

Except you’re alone

Over and over, it happens

Every. Single. Day. because how do you leave your body behind?

I’m stuck with this defective meat suit

So, you find ways to manage

Up and down my weight goes

Neither resulting in me loving myself

I never even “looked” malnourished

This also became a weapon, “You can’t even do anorexia, right?”

I spent the last 10 years trying to avoid jeans

In the era of leggings and yoga pants I’ve gone undetected

Especially with COVID

If someone notices my clear aversion to it, I simply note the fabric is bothersome and doesn’t feel breathable

People often offer solutions such as different brands or styles

I let the information slip

I feared being sucked back into dancing with the devil

I’ve kept two pair of jeans however, every once in a while, attempting to slip them on

I feel this is a reasonable size as it’s in-between my lowest and highest weight

Yet the last 4 years they have not gone past my thighs

Again, I’m caught with my pants down

I pull them off like I’m brushing off spiders crawling up my legs

Put them back in the closet

Food will become disgusting and incredibly appealing all at once

I’ll cycle into states of restriction leading to binging, potential purging, and then indifference until I can repress the obsession

I can delay it until the next slip, thought of my weight, comment on my body, or urge to try on these two pairs of jeans

I don’t weigh myself for this exact reason

Can’t even remember when that stopped

Maybe almost 15 years ago

I have it blocked off medical charts if needed

I write 160lbs on anything requiring my weight like my license

I watch myself search for things I can control

Things I can make sense of and seek safety in for brief moments

Convincing myself I’m better in these spaces

Even if I’m hurting myself, I’M hurting myself

I can beat you to the punch

I can hurt myself far more and better than you ever could

I learned from the best…

The cycle began around age 10

Prior to this my family still accosted me with comments on my body any chance they got

I just didn’t understand how food and exercise played a role in what it looked like...

Not yet at least

My mother taught me

She could “help me”, she said

I was standing in the dressing room with her

This new school was trying to look less shitty by requiring more uniformed clothing

Here we are trying to find tan and black Dickies pants

Dickies are made of another unforgiving material and sizes run up

Least for women-I was in between a 12 or 14 in women

I remember because my mother noted I was double her size, a 6.

Children clothes didn’t fit my thighs or chest quiet right so I was indoctrinated into this “size vs women” world as a child

I was standing in that dressing room in just my underwear and socks

I was humiliated as she scanned my body

Pinching and grabbing at the extra stuff

Highlighting the width of the waist band of pants I was about to put on

I wanted to cry

But I didn’t because I knew the response was 1 of 2 options

I infuriate her for making her feel like an asshole when she is trying to help, eventually leading to her striking me

Or she’d get off on the crying and laugh at how ridiculous I’m being

She doesn’t cry so it makes her better than me

I did my best to avoid these interactions with her

I did my best to be likeable

And how do you get the mean girl at the High School to like you?

Hate the person she most despises, … me

Exploring these memories often feels harsh

I question whether I recall them correctly

But then I have friends from childhood make note of me taking diet pills in fourth grade

Younger than my memories go

The feelings that arise in my body make it clear this is true

I imagine a 4th grader on Hydroxycut…

It’s horrifying

That child is me…

In this moment I can feel compassion

I can see why I am the way I am

Then there is just sadness because of how hard it is to undo…

So, yesterday I bought my first pair of jeans

On my period of all circumstances

I forgot my meds and prep this month so my inflammation disorder is out of control

Looks like I’m in my first trimester

I decided last year that I’d make an attempt to care for myself

My physical self, 1x a year… seems reasonable

I spent the entire month contemplating different options of care

Clothes? Jewelry? Makeup?

What does She want?

Here I am, few days before only realizing jeans was always it

I tell myself over and over that the number doesn’t mean anything

I’m struggling to prepare myself

I go into it consciously knowing I am risking exposure to a serious trigger

I walk into the store

Not a brand I’ve ever known my size in

I briefly scan the styles

Immediately filtering the tighter styles

I grab a few baggy options and stretch options

I close the door and take a deep breath

The mirror begins

“Gross” “Look at your cellulite” “You could be so much better” “Look at the spots”

I close my eyes

I try again

I try really hard

I slip on the first pair

I notice I misread the size. It’s a size 2

There is no way this is going past my ankle let alone a thigh

I can hear my heart beating as I think, “Fuck”

I return with more sizes

I decide to go with the larger sizes first

I think it could be easier to stop when it fits

Versus having to watch myself reach for the next larger size

The first one mostly fits

But there is this big gap on my lower back

I know I can’t go smaller so I reach for the stretchy style 

I rotate one time

Avoiding my face

“Ok, done”

I head directly to check out and exit the mall

When I get home I toss the jeans into the closet

One hurdle at a time