Alrighty friendlies, I’ve been feeling a little deep lately. I know, I know, it’s very unlike me to get all emo and shit, but can you blame, I am a woman nearing her 30’s, with ovaries that cry once a month. Seriously, if it were up to me I would rather have no feelings and punch my ovaries in the fucking face, but alas, I shall not.
This year, I have been slowly unraveling into one of two things: 1) A Crazy Person 2) An Open Book. Fuck, perhaps both man. I mean for one, my whole family is crazy so it is about time the cray cray bug bites me, and well, I have always been someone who is quite open, but very careful will what I choose to share with others.
So today, I will share a couple things that have been floating around in this big head of mine.
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In highschool (fuck 11 years ago now?) I was a little more roly poly. In my family I was the ‘fat one’. I would be hounded by my siblings with fat jokes. Now here is the thing, I wasn’t by any means overweight. I was thick sure, but I played tons of sports and was a dancer.
In grade 9, I decided that the only time I’ll eat food was right after school and right after dance class (which usually ended around 10pm). I never, ate breakfast, as it always made me sick in the wee hours of the morning.This practice of mine was painful. I would be starving all through school, and as soon I was home I would eat, and eat and eat, as much as humanly possible and then head to ballet class. Now, to put this in perspective, school started around 8:45, ended around 3pm and my dance classes would start at around 4:15. So stupid Caitlin, would be cramming in any fucking thing she could in the span of 1 hour; Chips, sandwiches, KD, fruit, you name it!
I would go off to class, in a very tight body suite for 4 sometimes 5 hours, with all the shit I just ate swishing around in my stomach. SO.NOT.IDEAL.
Now, at this age I was also turning from a child into a semi-decent-older child. I began having curvy hips, my boobs were blossoming into an uncomfortable C Cup (C is for Caitlin), and stretch marks started to line my thighs and ass. Now, maybe for most females at this time, having titties and hips is exciting. The boys will finally come flocking wanting to catch a nip slip, or slide in for a finger bang. But for me, a girl who wants to be a ballerina, this was unacceptable.
I already came to terms knowing my body type was not that of an ideal ballerina. I had thick,stocky legs, but I knew they were strong and I could fly off the floor with them, I had small feet, but they were able to endure pain like no other {Side note: I once danced a show with a nail completely stuck in my heel without realizing until the performance was over. #thuglife?}. I wasn’t very tall, but I could lift my legs hire and jump hire than my other fellow ballerinas. I was faced knowing I probably won’t make it as a ballerina based on my body, but if the companies saw passed this and looked at my skill, my technique, then maybe I could. Maybe, just maybe.
In order for me to speed up this process of possibly making it into a company. I decided that all the binge-eating I was doing, was not productive for my life goals, and so to balance it out I discovered……..wait…..for….it……the two-finger diet. (Ahem-bulimia).
Now, I didn’t start doing this until the last few years or so of high school. But I would go home eat like a fucking piglet, head to the studio, use the washroom to throw all the shit I just ate up and head to class.
Some of the other girls I think knew, but we were all in the same boat. We hated our bodies.
Towards graduation, I stopped. Like turning a light switch on and off. I applied to few universities. The one dance school I applied to I was denied. I wasn’t going to be a dancer. I was angry, I was sad, I was let face it PISSED RIGHT THE FUCK OFF. I couldn’t understand, I knew my body wasn’t that of a ballerina, but I tried to make it so it was. My technique was damn near flawless, my turn out was outstanding, my feet could take me across the floor like no other dancer. My references, were from well-known choreographers and prima ballerina’s. Now, yes I know this seems like I am building myself up way too much, but fuck I was straight up awesome what can I say?
In the letter I received. They regretted to inform me that I was not accepted into the School Of Which Will Not Be Named. They then followed with and now I don’t remember word for word, but it was something along the lines of: What makes a dancer, is not her arabesque. it is not her perfect turn out, nor her feet, but it is her passion. That was my problem, I was so concentrated on trying to make my body perfect, that I completely lost my passion. My eyes were dead in dance, the emotion I tried to convey in dances was forced and noticeably so.
So I stopped. I stopped dancing, I stopped throwing up, I stopped stuffing my face. I was accepted into SFU for Performance Theatre, moved out to BC at the age of 17 and pursued another path.
Now, being a freshman in university I certainly gained weight. I partied every weekend, I was eating unhealthy food, I was an insomniac, I drank coffee until the last drop, I was completely an utterly unhealthy in every possible way. You would have never guess I was a dancer, until I started to move and dance.
I would come home during the summers from university and would be a little bit bigger. I knew my family noticed, not everyone said something, but facial expressions say a lot. I hated myself all over again. However, I didn’t feel the urge to go back into old habits.
At some point during my years in university, I met someone and fell in love. L.O.V.E. Now, being still a young, stupid girl still in the party scene, and when you are working with a bunch of actors shit just gets weird. I made a mistake. We almost broke up. He wouldn’t talk to me for a couple weeks, and although we were ‘working on it’ I felt like I was loosing him. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t even drink. In the span of 2 weeks I went from 145-130, then from there on down to 112.
Went home for the summer to visit the family, and they noticed, not everyone said something, but facial expressions say a lot. My mom noticed right away. I in fact didn’t even realized how much weight I lost until people started making comments. And now looking at older photos, I definitely was skinny as fuck. AIN’T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT! My body resembled that of a boy scout or slender man. So not sexy at all.
(Funny how when you gain a little chub chub or lose a lot of weight people will always say rude shit)
When I returned to University (I believe it was my final year), my perspective of people and their bodies changed. Even, the most skinniest of people I saw flaws in their bodies. I didn’t want gain any weight ever again.
So fast forward to now, I am not as skinny as I was then, I am more what I would like to describe as an average thickness. I workout regularly. I eat somewhat healthy. But even now and then that trick I did back in high school creeps up. Sometimes, I get so down about it I won’t even eat in a day, the only thing I seem to binge are laxatives and fucking strangers.
What do I have to thank for it? Well, my teeth aren’t as white or as healthy as they could be. That’s from throwing up disgusting acid shit. I have a lot of intestinal issues. I can eat something and it goes through me quite quickly, and sometimes if it doesn’t HELLO LAXATIVES! I also have issues with my ovaries. And it’s not because I punched them in the fucking face. You see, because of my old habit, I have developed cysts on my ovaries, that come and go. Usually, being on birth control keeps them in check, but they are not nice to have. I can sometimes get intense pains, which usually means they have ruptured or just headbanging in my nether regions.
Also another lovely side effect of my old stupid tricks, is the possibility of having children is slim to non. Usually, pregnancy would result in miscarriage or an ectopic pregnancy which is usually resulted into a miscarriage anyways.
So I am at a stage in my life, where I am rather indifferent to the fact. I enjoy being the crazy auntie from out west that spoils all her nieces and nephews.
I am okay with the decisions I have made in my past. I am content with moving forward. And I am still a work in process when old shady habits start creeping up on me.
But hey, every one goes through stuff. And maybe I feel the urge to devulge all this shit because I’m riding the crimson wave right now. but hey I am a bit cray cray, and thought I would share just one chapter of my open book.
Cait-Interrupted 