The indomitable Ingrid Jones speaks fearlessly about her spiral into eating disorders, she tells us how body shaming comments made her feel like it burnt the skin of her soul, and how, when she became thinner, attention became her drug of choice.
It started from a very young age
I’m not obsessed about fat or being fat, I’m obsessed with my silhouette. It started from a very young age. I was a gangly, lanky teenager who was called names like “Pote” (animal paws) and “Skenkels” (shanks) because of how thin my legs were. I was also mercilessly teased by the boys and called “Plankebors” (plank chest), a reference to my flat and underdeveloped chest at the age of 13.
If I think about it, I was of average proportion through high school and university and it was only while teaching that my weight started yo-yoing. I distinctly remember walking in the Main Road, Bellville in the 80s when a municipal worker on the back of a truck looked down at me and said: “Rond soos ‘n bôl” (as round as a ball). And then he and his buddies laughed like hyenas. It stung like someone threw acid over me. It burnt the skin of my soul.
I started looking at my shape. My breasts were now fully developed and dominating my silhouette, my stomach was still flat, my derriere (my butt) ok, and my legs still stick thin. I didn’t have a shape.
I became addicted to the way my clothes body-hugged me
I also remember taking three months’ leave to work on a musical for a school in Mitchell’s Plain and in the time that we were writing and rehearsing, I lived off honeycomb chocolates and red apples. There was no time to eat. My weight dropped to a size 27. I felt good. I became addicted to the way my clothes body-hugged me in all the right places, I got looks and stares like never before in my life. For a girl who was never regarded as “pretty” or “look-worthy”, it was a dangerous and intoxicating space to be in.
I started starving myself to remain a size 27. I had a white Levi 501 that fitted me like a glove and I worshipped it. I was 27 and wearing a size 27.
It was at this point that I started sticking my finger down my throat to vomit everything that I ate. I love food. I enjoy the act of eating. But eating everything that’s good and delicious leads to weight gain. So how can I eat whatever I want and remain a 27? I vomited. It was also at the age of 27 that I had my first drink.
Part 2 will follow soon. You know y’all don’t like reading long pieces.
Attention was my drug of choice
It’s time for Part 2.
Last time we chatted I was 27 and wearing a size 27. I had issues with my silhouette, and not my fat. I’m sure you are thinking I must be on crack cocaine separating the two, because in essence it sounds the same, right?
To me they are not.
After 27, for ten years, until I reached 37, I vomited to retain my weight of 47 kilograms. 50 was fat. 60 was bordering on obese. And 70 was unthinkable. Don’t mention dress sizes. Anything over 34 was fat. Church aunties wearing size 40 floral dresses were fat. If I entertained the idea of gaining weight, 36 was the highest dress size I allowed myself. Anything over that I would starve myself to regain at least 34.
But for ten glorious years I was sub-34. How did I do that? On the one hand I craved food and overate on most occasions. And on the other hand, I couldn’t stomach the fact that I would gain weight. My girlfriends and I were the belles of the balls, and they were all thin. How could I be the fatso, the one that resembles a ball? Attention was my drug of choice.
I thought no one was watching
I would stuff myself and declare my delight in the good meal. I learned how to make it easy to throw up the food. I learned how to time it just right so that the food would have been softened up, but not yet settled in. Then I would excuse myself to go to the bathroom and then just vomit it all out. That meant that I could have another bite, maybe another desert. And if needs be, just vomit it out again. I became very clever at this. I thought no one was watching. I completely forgot about the sour smell clinging to the corners of my mouth, the sour smell in the bathroom…
I was about to be busted.
Part 3 to follow soon.
