"Jennifer"

Every day, for as long as I can remember, I have gotten in a fight with someone called Jennifer.

It's not that she doesn't deserve it, though. Jennifer is a hateful bitch.

You may know her as someone else, but every girl has met her at one point in their lives or another.
Some women tell her she is ridiculous and to shut the fuck up. Those girls are the strong ones. Some befriend her for just a little bit, she has their best interest at heart. Jennifer just wants you to be the best you possible. Jennifer's best interest is in physicality; and some girls befriend her forever.


I am the latter of those girls. Except I would call Jennifer a frenemy at best. She's been around for over 10 years, and we have had some really great times together. For a while now, though, Jennifer hasn't been in control nearly as much as she would like to be. Which makes her even more bitchy than usual.

(I swear I'm not actually talking about myself here, but I suppose the presence of "Jennifer" does make me more bitchy.)

For a while, it was just me. And while I wasn't happy with that, I certainly kept myself busy. I did that by starting graduate school and working out a lot. I'm talking 1-2 hours every day. More on weekends. I remember having what I would call "Super Saturdays" which were, in reality just a 5 hour exercise purge. I'd hit up two different gyms, go to two different dance classes, run, do some abs and strength, and then hit poolside for the rest of the day. Or study in Starbucks, depending on the season.

It was amazing and horrible all at the same time.

Let me explain.... when I was neck-deep in it, I didn't realize it was maybe a tiny bit  ridiculous. I thought I was a rock star. I had all this energy (Where the hell did that go?) and time to burn, and best of all I was getting skinnier so everything was awesome. On weekdays, I had a job with minimal responsbility, grad school classes which I did homework at the last minute for, which left me ample time to work out at night. I was, in essence, in a very serious relationship with my gym.

I also ate 1000 calories a day, I wrote down every single thing I intook, and I portioned out foods (ahem, when I ate) like I was on rations during the Cold War. I never touched sugar, I only drank caffeine first thing in the morning, and I drank water like a fish. (Some of these things I still do.)

In the winter I lived on Earl Grey tea. With non-fat half & half, and two splenda's. That was all I needed, really. Add a protein shake for lunch, some baked chicken for dinner and I was good. I had almost no food in my apartment, not because I was broke, but because I didn't eat it. I had skim milk (to mix with protein), diet coke, half & half, chicken, and some green beans. I thought it was perfectly normal. Jennifer told me I was amazing. I was confident, pseudo-happy, and always getting thinner.

I have always struggled with my weight. For as long as I can remember. And I always remember there being a part of me which constantly told myself that I was any combination of the following:

Ugly
Fat
Worthless
Disgusting
Lazy
Inadequate
Unattractive
Huge
Giant-Sized
Squishy
Fluffy
Gross

However you want to stack them, I knew how to tell myself these things. And I always believed myself.

Then one day, Matt came along. He picked up on my slight body image issue eating disorder, and renamed that part of me "Jennifer". So that every time I have a moment, of sorts, he can tell me that Jennifer needs to leave his girlfriend the fuck alone, because he wants to enjoy some time with her. Or some variation of that.

With all the weddings I've been in this year, coupled with stress of the 8430238596 projects I've got going on, I've been in a serious body-funk.

I've taken more diet pills this year than I know how to count. And while I know that they basically don't do anything beneficial, they do curb my appetite to almost nothing. I've starved myself voluntarily, telling myself that the hunger pain is an achievement. I've exercised to the point of passing out. I've at some point been a member at three different gyms at one time. I've eschewed almost all of my other responsibilities so that I could work out. I've lost productivity time at work because all I can think about is getting to the gym, and I've developed elaborate schedules in order to maximize my workout time and time with Matt.

The thing that bothers me is that I'm in the happiest place in my life that I've ever been in. I have a man that I love more than anything, who loves me exactly as I am. I have a job that pays me well, which I really enjoy. I have amazing family and friends, and comparatively speaking, I'm doing pretty well for myself. (Read: I'm not unemployed, broke as shit, and standing on Wall Street in the freezing cold. I'm not the 1% by any means, but I'm working hard for what I've got.) And I still have many, many days in which I'm so incredibly unhappy, and ferociously uncomfortable in my own skin that I almost end up in an anxiety attack because of it. I've started to take the hate I have for my own body out on it at the gym.

I look at my friends on facebook and in real life who have real woman bodies that they may not love as much as I imagine they do, but they're happy in light of it. They don't do half the crap that I do to my body. They know that the love they receive from their loved ones is not rooted in physical appearance. (I know this, too, but Jennifer doesn't. And Jennifer..... as much as I hate it..... is a part of me. I've somehow learned, not from any one in particular, that my worthiness of being loved and successful is rooted in my appearance.) I envy these women; these friends of mine. I wish that I could have the physical confidence that they do. Instead of feeling like I should be wearing a paper bag on most days.

I suppose my point is that no matter how hard I've tried to rid myself of this disorder, it will always follow me around. I know this. I'll always have a part of Jennifer inside me. Ultimately, though, I wish that one day I will see myself as others who love me see me. I wish that I can exude the confidence that I want to, and that when someone tells me they think I'm beautiful..... I can feel it.