SELF HELP

Eating Disorders

Body/Language: Speaking Out About Body Image and Eating Issues

Body/Language took place February 27th, 2008 during National Eating Disorders Awareness Week. This program was a time to speak out about body image concerns and eating disorders, no longer keeping these issues secret. Towson University students submitted their artistic reactions to this epidemic through poems, letters and pieces of fiction and non-fiction. These talented young adults read their pieces to a large audience of students, faculty and staff and members of the community.

Below are the outstanding pieces that were read at the event. Immerse yourself in their inspiring words and strive to improve your relationship with food and your body.

Please
By Eliza Jane

Please

Just one more time, its only going to cost me a dime.

Pass me that plate, I've got nothing to hate.
Please help.

By tomorrow night, I won't be able to keep up with this fight.
Guess I just won't wear anything too tight.

My silent screams: shattered.
YES! to less, I'm creating a mess.
Please help.

Inside I'm just a food whore, but checkout my core- I work my body until I'm sore.

But by looking at me, you couldn't tell
I'd just been through hell.
Please help.

Is this all sounding a little too crazy.
Well, it's no walk through the daisies.

There are standards to beat,
and I won't be able to meet---- you tell me.

My thoughts are scrambled,
but don't worry, I got this all handled.
Please help.

I know what I want to see and wish I could be...
it's hard though- when my life faced to the mirror, shows no scripture and I'm not in the picture.

When will my mind stop?
They yell, "Not till you reach the top!"
Please help.

I don't know how to stop.
If I had a cop, he could blow his whistle to keep me from pulling this pistol.

Let's be real, times going fast. But all this will soon be in my past.
Please help.

Letter to Ana
By Mahria Hinzman

Dear Ana,
You maleficent lover, chaining me in the flowing tendrils of your crimson hair
Passion so quickly turns to despair
And bright things to confusion.
You fluttered into my life, sweet red sparrow nesting
On my shoulder, your tender guidance, gentle
Kisses turned to bites—dribbling long streams of blood—
Claiming me forever.

Order
Gets one from birth to death
In one piece, with some semblance of sanity,
Allows her to cope with the slings and arrows
Of mortal life.
Disorder
Sidles in—perfect illusion, monstrous reality
Causing friends to seek entertainment elsewhere—
Lovers always flee the sinking ship of a self-conscious woman.
As she mistakes disorder for ruthless exactitude
The world pushes her toward the round white room
With no bed.

My quest is order and perfection—the solace of logic and formula
You recognized this—pouncing
On the chance to annihilate the essence of this desperate child.

You took me to the stars
And laughed when I gasped without oxygen
You taught me to live on the thrill of blood
And abandoned me when the blood flowed too fast
Fickle lover, wicked bird.

Ana, you came closer to discovering me than anyone
Delving into my shadows of neuroses and fear
Watching my insides glitter when exposed to the light.
But you too are imperfect—you fear our cleaving
When I am able to laugh as the blood runs down
And dance carefree in the deepest sea and furthest space
Knowing, knowing that I can find sustenance in dewy
Emotion—knowing you are unnecessary in my
Perfect
Little
Crazy
Life.

Competition of Thin
By Brittany Farmer

Waiting room.
No one speaking.
The definition of silence.

Satisfaction in-
prominent bones,
pale complexions,
hollow eyes,
chapped skin.

Everyone is looking at me,
judging my body.
They are laughing at me.

Secrets make me better than you.
The same secrets wear me down.
How is it you get them out of me?
I swore I would never tell.
I want to find excuses
not to show up.

But I come.

It’s my turn.
Weekly weigh-in.
Suggestions of back to scale.
It’s only numbers.
But I’m obsessed with those numbers.

Ugly obsession.

I did well this week,
according to the charts.

Same time next week.
Same battle in the waiting room.
I can never give in
to this competition of thin...

Symbiosis
By Elizabeth Kim

She stood naked, as usual,
Head cocked to one side,
Hands searching deftly,
For any unwelcome gain,
Tentative looks ricocheting off the glass.

It was a laborious cycle,
This toiling over control,
Control over pangs of hunger,
Pangs now silenced through discipline.

Until recently,
The needle on the scale wiggled back and forth,
Never venturing too far left nor too far right,
So that today she weighed herself precariously,
And considering it like any other day,
Peeked over her toes at the scale,
Which to her surprise,
Revealed a drastic change in numbers….

Meanwhile, ignorant was she of harboring
A parasite most delicately devouring from within,
Attaching most eagerly to her flesh,
Proceeding to suck, gnaw, chew,
So tenderly, so gingerly,
Almost insatiably.

Yet it was a pitiable feast,
The host so frugal with her guest,
Clearly, there were no intentions of entertaining him,
Nonetheless, the daily portions baffled him,
Rummaged, though he may,
Undeniably, neither he nor she would hold out much longer
With these dwindling rations.

Head still cocked to one side,
She thought it odd,
This unwonted acceleration in loss,
Then slowly, a slight grin inched across her face,
Unaware of the advances made
By her unbeknownst guest.

Wonderland
By Megan Thacker

I’ve fallen down into that rabbit hole
Through the mirror and into Wonderland
Falling deeper and deeper
Terrified that ill never be able to get back to where I was

Everything is backwards, inverted
I’ve lost touch with normal, whatever that is
Maybe it just floated away (Or maybe I’m the one who floated away)
The mask goes on
The façade is ubiquitous; I climb into my shell where I am safe

I live in a daze full of crazy rules, but they keep me so safe; safe and clean
The reflection staring back at me; it’s not what you see
I’ve lost myself in the darkness, disparaging echoes following me everywhere

I make barriers and blockades to keep me safe and in control
Otherwise my emotions control me; so I distance myself and curl up into a ball
Afraid I’ll crumble and turn to dust
I feel so alone; no one can see the pain in my face, the sorrow in my eyes
Why doesn’t anyone see how hurt I am inside?
And then I remember I’m in Wonderland; so now I’m invisible

Self-destruction, each time spiraling me downwards
The cycle goes on to keep me oh so safe and keep myself from becoming any more
Because I am already too much

Terrified of wanting, of needing
I have to keep myself in control, because if I don’t, I’ll be weak
But I know it will happen any day now; I’ll wake up and be alone

So tired of everything; I just want to give up
But something urges me forward…or backward; I can’t tell the difference anymore
The only blame to be cast is on me
For wanting the happiness I can’t have and don’t deserve
Because I’ve fallen down into that darned rabbit hole
Through the mirror and into Wonderland

Choices
By Avital Evgey

When I look up she is what I see
Her eyes bore into mine and wait for me to choose
She and no one else can decide for me
We have everything to gain and everything to lose

Will I choose to wrap a sweater around her when the cold gnaws?
Or will I choose to let her shiver
Will I choose to stand up for her when, while in a fight, she falls?
Or will I choose to look away until it blows over

Will I choose to embrace her strengths and incomparability?
Or will I choose to reflect on her many faults and limitations
Will I choose to admit that she cannot live with hunger indefinitely?
Or will I choose to convince her that hunger is what stands between her and perfection

Will I choose to absolve her when she goes astray?
Or will I choose to never let anything go
Will I choose to castigate her when she is rejected or sent away?
Or will I choose to realize that rejection by another is not worth the sorrow

Will I choose to look at her and adore what my eyes behold?
Or will I choose to despair at every inch of her that I see
Will I choose to let her words flow strong and bold?
Or will I choose to lock her thoughts within her with a lost key

Will I choose a hopeful smile for her?
Or will I choose to let her frown forever.
Will I choose to love her?
Or will I choose to hate her

I must choose, and what I decide is what will be,
For she is the mirror reflection of me

What will I choose?
What would you choose?

Model-esque
By Fire

Dreams of a
thinner me
in another world.

My head held
high, stilettos
neck draped in pearls.

My face not
like the others
peaking from behind curls.

Runway Diva
hidden behind
a chubby little girl.

Dear Thighs, Butt, Stomach…
By A. W. Winthrop

Dear Thighs, Butt, Stomach, and All of my Other body Parts,

For many years, I’ve belittled you, tormented you with mirrors and cursed you all for your size. I apologize to my body parts and the way I’ve treated them in the past. Body images connects with self esteem as if they were one and the same. I always sought to sever this connection, as my body never fit the one in the magazines. Denying food was never a problem, in fact, I consumed more of it to numb the pain in my emotions. If I could be a streamlined, thin, woman, my ambitions could be fulfilled, and my problems would be magically solved.
In reality, my mind was being poisoned with self doubt. My things seemed thunderous, a stomach of a whale, and skin that sagged into Grand Canyon style crevices. Blind I was to the compliments anyone paid to my body, and there were more than a few. I ventured to wear clothing that highlighted my figure, I cringed at the thought of others finding me attractive. Why should someone else, a guy even, find this bag of fat attractive?
Time has passed and my body weighs less than it once did. The heaviest weight I carried was not my body but the self doubt in my head. Things, you are not thunderous, you are a voluptuous pear shape. Stomach, you’re still rounded, but provide me with curves and a pillow for my friends. To my Butt, the base for a womanly shape, connecting into that pear shape with your companion thighs.
Self doubt is beginning to recede under mantras of self worth. Message of acceptance play on loop in my head. Images of thin people still assault me, but they do not make me year to assimilate. My body will eternally curvaceous, and a mechanism for activity. Validation will come through writing instead of through the size of my body. For my body parts, we are one, and the same.

Your Recovering Magazineaholic,

Marie

Be Amazed
By Chrisovalandou Diakokomninos

Forget about the media hype and ignore their scheming tactics of trying to persuade you that by obtaining the perfect body, you will accomplish all of your tasks.
If everything were perfect there would be no reason to love and make mistakes. Imperfections serve as a guiding light for young women who care enough to embrace and conquer their loneliness and despair which may have also altered their self-esteem and contributed to their negative body-image in the past.

Never underestimate your worth!
You are a valuable treasure worth being discovered
Loving who you are may not be easy but try to accept your flaws
as they come, one by one, they’re unique just like you and they are what
Make you special and hard to forget.

I would like to exclaim to those very same women struggling to accept their bodies, that their body is a temple worth cherishing and that, “You are beautiful! Believe in yourself and who you are capable of becoming because although I have never met you.
I know in my heart that you are a strong and a charismatic individual willing to blossom into a beautiful and sweet-smelling rose and a brilliant shining star that probably waits to fulfill her dreams but is crippled with fear and self-doubt.”

Never underestimate your worth!
You are a priceless jewel, a precious diamond in the rough
Who may be anticipating life’s mysteries
Don’t be afraid to create your destiny!

Imagine if every guy’s desire was to love a woman for her heart and mind
Her goal would be to attain inner beauty and she would walk with pride.
Knowing that the man she loves appreciates who she is and acknowledges her worth
and is impressed by her charismatic personality, not just amazed by her good looks and amazing figure. Every woman deserves to be treated like a princess. Let’s show society what we are really made of. Reality check – We are more than meets the eye. New fashion trends have bombarded our lives but we insist on displaying our intellect.
Women all over the world, I urge you to be confident and to seek answers from within. Smile because you are beautiful. You are unique! You deserve to love and be loved!

Regaining Hegemony
By S. Anne Johnson

I am entering your airwaves.
I am crossing your wires.
I’m shouting loud and voicing my power.
I am Regaining Hegemony.
I’m reclaiming the control media has held on me for years.
Oh YES, the revolution will be televised.
The revolution will be televised.
The revolution of Black women will be televised in
5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

As a girl, shouting was accepted!
I’d smile, hold my head up high to the heavens
—simply be me with out rejection!
Cause around-the-way girls ain’t care if your feet were too big
—just as long as you could still hopscotch and double Dutch.
And if you were smart in school, your teacher gave you a golden star
—and nobody would hate unless you took it too far.
Your mom wasn’t tripping if you gained a little weight.
She’d say “that’s just baby fat, baby,”
pinch your cheeks,
and fix you another plate
—if you had it.

If you had darker skin, grandma said your juice was sweeter.
(That’s right your juice was sweeter.)
And for a while you actually believed her.
I believed her for a minute.
Until adolescence took heed
and distorted my self-image. . .

As a young lady,
I was told to shrink down to size
cause I was too fat to fit in,
too loud to be
too clever for comfort.
What was wrong with me?

Teen magazines said:
You got too much ooty in your booty and your thighs are too flabby.
Clothing lines said:
Your hips, too wide and your titties, too bitty.
Cosmetic aids said:
Your lips, too full. Your hair ain’t silky smooth. It’s not snappy; it’s just nappy.
Dermatologists said:
Your face looks like measles, mumps, bumps. . . What’s that growing on your face?
Podiatrists said:
Your toes are like hooks.

Never mind my looks.
I said: What about my book
smarts?
Music videos said:
Don’t think, just blink and look pretty.
Fashion moguls said:
Can’t eat, thin’s in; chunky ain’t human.

Now I’ve got all this food,
and a sista can’t chew?
Cause crumbs will crowd my soup-coolers
and then I’ll have to wipe off my caked-up, make-up,
thus revealing my true complexion.
Constantly ogling in the mirror, but can’t stomach my ugly reflection.
I’ve gotta work off this load momma said was goin go away on its own.
Now I know I’m not alone in this struggle for perfection,
yet I’m one of the many trying to be more like the few.
But how am I supposed to squeeze my size 8 into a size 6 shoe?
Or fill out those double Ds with my triple A boobs?

(And then after I tipped over)

Rappers said:
Just shut down, open up, be used and not useful.
You are now an object of the gaze.
Shake your tail a little harder and see if I’m amazed.
Be a smiling flesh of sunshine while you’re inner soul is burning.
Bite your tongue until it bleeds.
There’s no need to set your truth free.

Oh no, no, no, no, no
I’m fading away, but that cannot be me.
I . . .
am . . .
a . . .
I am a . . .
woman (that’s right)
Who is . . .
Regaining Hegemony!

(Epiphany!)

My grand-momma sat a hereditary cooler on momma’s booter
and created my arch.
My tresses tighten to protect me from the heat.
The melanin in my skin makes my berries sweet.
(That’s right. I said it makes my berries sweet.)
And my tummy, though not pudgy, is full
from collard greens, candy yams and fish fry Friday’s.
Now I could imitate as I see fit or I can call shots proudly.
Media is a lot, but it ain’t authentic.
It’s an image
that has been cropped, nipped, picked, restructured and resurfaced.
Surface— that superficiality.
Substance is what I embody
because I am a real woman who is Regaining Hegemony,
reclaiming the control media has had on me for years!

My legs aren’t miles long.
Breasts aren’t mountains high, but they sure ain’t sagging.
Won’t be caught dead on my knees subsiding
because they want me to believe that servility is sexy.
If I smile, it’s cause I’m happy.
If I’m angry, feel my rage!
Don’t like it?
Turn the page
to some other chick that’s quick to sell her pride for about a dollar.
While I’ll be that dominate, delightful diva
possessing my own thoughts,
speaking my own mind,
living my own life,
popping my own collar.
Standing strong,
self assured at 5- foot- 2 inches,
long feet,
crooked teeth,
big-booty beauty.
No tits,
full lips,
wide hips,
near sighted with a royal sash and a crown.
Oh, I’m no princess.
I’m a Nubian queen.
Just call me your highness REGAINED HEGEMONY.

My, it feels so good to able to shout again!
I can care less if you accept it, or reject it!
I’m . . .still . . . smiling!

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