I think I am rather fond of suffering. I'm not sure why I feel this way, but this is not a new development. When I was little, I loved to read about WWII and famine and rationing and suffering. I wanted to live through a terrible war that caused me to suffer, but I would survive. I spent a whole summer digging holes in my back yard, because I felt like I had to struggle and work. I would write out hour by hour schedules of what I had to be doing, I would create workout circuits in my house so i could exercise without anyone knowing what I was up to. I would eat packets of dry oatmeal, because I thought it would take up less room and take a lot longer to eat.
In fifth grade, I convinced the other girls to diet with me. We wouldn't finish our chocolate milk at school, and we challenged each other on who could eat less of the school lunch. I remember that twice a year they would weigh and measure us at school unexpectedly. Once, in either 4th or 5th grade I remember they told us a few days before they were going to weigh us. The night before the weigh in, I played so hard on the jungle gym in my backyard so I could burn off all my weight. I remember them telling me my height and weight, and I couldn't figure out of it was good or bad, but I figured it could never be too low, so I tried dieting.
In 3rd grade I remember my cousin telling me if you stood with your feet shoulder width apart, you should be able to fit a quarter between your thighs. Otherwise you were fat. We decided to diet and ride bikes together to lose weight.
In 6th grade, there was a girl who seemed absolutely perfect. She was a good church girl, but so friendly, and everyone liked her. She had the most beautiful long hair and a bright shining smile. Someone told me that she would wake up in the middle of the night feeling like she needed to do sit-ups and other exercise or she couldn't go back to sleep. I always wanted to ask her why she did it, but I've never asked.
Even to this day, I feel like I need to suffer and never have enough. I want to live day to day not knowing if I'm going to be able to eat. Constantly pushing my body to it's limit. I want to feel weak and empty. I want to be the ragged , scratched up, skinny survivor with her head held high, and pride intact. This is what excites me, and I couldn't ever explain why.