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Dr. Celia Banting

Copyright © 2008 by Dr. Celia BantingAll rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, in-cluding photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work should be mailed to the following address: Wighita PressP.O. Box 30399Little Rock, Arkansas 72260-0399www.wighitapress.comThis is a work of ction. Names of characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used ctitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication DataBanting, CeliaI Only Said I Wasn’t Hungry/Dr. Celia Banting – 1st Editionp. cm. ISBN 9780978664879 (paperback)1. Therapeutic novel 2. Suicide prevention 3. Eating disorder4. AnorexiaLibrary of Congress Control Number: 2007930368Layout by Michelle VanGeestCover production by Luke JohnsonCover photo by kind permission from Georgia and Helen RostronPrinted by Dickinson Press, Grand Rapids, Michigan, USA

Issues addressed in this book:Suicide preventionPeer pressureLow self-esteemFamily dynamicsFood as an emotional currencySociety’s inuence on body shapePersonal controlAuditory hallucinationsInternal conictEmotional blackmailPhysical effects of fastingHospitalisationForce feedingExternalizing the voice of AnorexiaCult brainwashingName attributionsGaining trustGuided imageryClassical conditioningFamily therapyInter-generational decisionsInjunctions and permissionsNutritionCookingPersonal afrmations

Also by Dr. Celia Banting…I Only Said I Had No ChoiceI Only Said “Yes” So That They’d Like MeI Only Said I Couldn’t CopeI Only Said I Didn’t Want You Because I Was TerriedI Only Said I Was Telling the Truth• • • •Available after April 2008…I Only Said I Could Handle It, But I Was WrongI Only Said It Didn’t HurtI Only Said I Wanted To Kill Myself; I Didn’t Really Mean ItI Only Said Leave Me Out of It

Dedicated to Erica Elsie and all those who are robbed of the joy of food.

AcknowledgmentsMy grateful thanks go to my proofreader and typesetter, Michelle VanGeest, who frees me from my dyslexic brain, and replaces my mother’s voice. Thanks to Bev, my stray-word spotter, too. I thank my wonderful husband, Des, for the inspi-ration and support he gives me. Thank you to Luke and Sam for their faith, inspiration and talent. Thank you to Helen and Dave, and Moya and Tony for their faith and support. Thank you to Susan Harring and Ron Woldyk for their reliability and profes-sionalism. Thank you to my dear friend Vicki for her guiding sense of style. Thank you to all my psychotherapy tutors and colleagues at the Metanoia Institute, London, for teaching me about human nature, psychopathology, growth and recovery. Thank you to Dr. Brian Fellows, University of Portsmouth, United Kingdom, for being my personal tutor for three years and igniting my in-terest in his course in hypnosis. I thank the good Lord for giving me a lively imagination, and I also thank my parents for moving to the Isle of Wight, “the land that bobs in and out of view, depending upon the sea mist.”

11É Ñ Chapter One “This is all your fault,” I yell at Mom. “What d’you mean? How can it be my fault?” she demands as she puts a huge plate of fried chick-en on the table. And not waiting for an answer she says, “Sit up to the table and eat your dinner.” “No! I’m not eating it.” She turns on me with deance contorting herface, and says, “Oh yes you are, my girl.” My heart races as I look at her. She’s the reason I’m so fat; she’s the reason that today was the worst day of my entire life. I can never face the kids at school again because of her. As we stare at each other, locked in a confrontation that, this time, I refuse to back down from, I can see that she hates me as much as I hate her. I sweep the plate of greasy fried chicken off the table, and as it ies across the oor and the dogrushes over to gobble it up, Mom explodes and slaps

12É Ñme hard across the face. I run to my room, my face stinging as tears roll down, and I throw myself on my bed.• • • • I haven’t always been fat. Everything seemed to change after my little sister, Alice, was born. Mom liked to cook, and before Alice arrived she used to spend all afternoon making dinner, so that it would be special for Dad. She’d let me help and I’d make Dad cookies. She never got onto me when I dropped the dough on the oor. She’d just say,“Oops, never mind, Ellie, a bit of dust won’t hurt him,” as she picked it up and placed it on the baking tray. When Dad came home he’d sit me on his knee and we’d share the cookies. He’d make murmur-ing noises, and say, “Um, delicious.” But that all stopped when Alice was born. I was six years old, and although I was too young to understand why Mom and Dad seemed different, I knew something was wrong. Mom didn’t have time to cook or bake anymore, and Dad was irritable. I felt scared and miserable. I’d heard Grandma tell Mom and Dad that I was jealousofmynewbabysister,andIfeltangrywithGrandma because she was wrong. I was excited when Dad took me to the hospital to see Alice. She was tiny, so Dad sat me on his lap as a nurse put her in my arms. When Mom brought her home I wanted to help,

13É Ñbut Alice was constantly sick and Mom wouldn’t let me hold her. Mom didn’t smile anymore, and Dad snapped at me when Mom snapped at him. We were constantly at the emergency room, and a doctor told Mom and Dad that Alice was “failing to thrive.” Mom got mad, saying that she was always feeding the baby but she kept vomiting. Once, Alice had to stay in the hospital, and I was sent to Grandma’s house. I didn’t want to go, but even though I cried, Dad pulled me up the path and said that he had enough on his plate and told me not to add to his troubles. I didn’t know what he meant. I remember calling through the window as I watched him go back to his car, while Grandma tried to coax me away with a bowl of chocolate ice cream. It seemed as if I was there for ages. Mom and Dad didn’t come to see me, and when I cried, Grandma said that they were busy at the hospital with Alice. Grandma looked worried, and every time I cried, she’dbringoutthecookiejarorgotothefridgetoget me something. I don’t remember how long I stayed at Grand-ma’s, but it must have been ages because Alice was alotbiggerwhenInallygottogohome.Buteventhough she was bigger than when I’d last seen her, she was still always throwing up and having to go to the hospital. It was the only place we ever went to.

14É Ñ Mom spent all her time cleaning the house so that Alice wouldn’t “catch something” and get sick again. But no matter how hard Mom cleaned the house, Alice was always sick and we’d have to go to the hospital again and again. I hated going there because there was nothing to do — I’d long since played with all the toys and gotten tired of them — and we had to wait forever. Mom would get mad at the nurses and demand to be seen next. Her anger would scare me and I’d cry, and she’d get me a candy bar from a machine to “shut me up,” I heard her say. By the time Alice started rst grade, she wastiny compared to the other kids in her class. I was twelve, and I was the biggest in my class. I hated school because the kids picked on me, calling me “Fatty” and “Jumbo.” And it wasn’t fair because Mom and Dad made me go to school every day, whereas Alice often stayed at home. When I complained, Mom turned on me and made me feel really bad. “I’m sick of your whining. You don’t hear Alice moaning, do you? And if anyone should complain, it should be her with what she’s had to put up with.” I scowled at her but said nothing back. She ig-nored me and told Dad that Alice’s doctor said that she had “Malabsorption Syndrome.” “What’s that?” Dad asked. “It’s when something’s wrong with your body

15É Ñand you can’t gain all the goodness from the food you eat. That’s why Alice is so small. I’ve always givenherenoughfood,butherbodyjustcan’tuseit to make her grow properly.”  Itwastrue,Alicejustdidn’tseemtogrow,al-though Mom tried to give her lots to eat. I began to hate dinnertime when we all sat around the table, because Mom and Dad seemed anxious to get Alice to eat, and when she couldn’t nish what was on her plate, they’d get stressedout. Alice would cry and Mom would go on and on about wasting food. “There are kids starving in the world,” she’d say, but she wouldn’t get onto Alice about wasting food. Instead, she’d pick up her plate and scrape her remaining food onto my plate. “She can’t man-age anymore; you eat it. We can’t waste food.” Shelookedsoangry,andI’deatitjusttomakeher stop yelling. I didn’t understand, though. Why shouldshe yell atme whenAlicedidn’t nishherfood? And why should I have to eat her leftovers? It didn’t make any sense to me, but I ate them anyway. I was so full that I barely had any room for dessert, but I made room. It didn’t seem fair thatIshouldgowithoutmydessertifIdidn’tnishmy dinner — well, Alice’s dinner — so I’d force it down. I got used to eating massive dinners because it happenedeverynight,andbythetimeIwasfteen

16É ÑI was really fat. The kids at school were mean to me, and I hated myself. I couldn’t bear to look in the mirror. Gym was my worst class, and sometimes I’d beg Mom to let me stay home on those days, but she’d never let me. I was too scared to skip school, so I endured the other girls snickering and laughing at me as I tried to keep up with them when we ran around the track. My best friend, Kim, told me not to listen to them, but it was hard not to. I panted all the way to the locker room, and I could hear one of the girls saying, “Did you see Ellie? She’s like a rhinoceros. God, I’d kill myself if I was that fat.” Another girl said, “An elephant, more like,” and all the girls laughed. I had tears in my eyes, but I couldn’t cry because I was panting so hard trying to catch my breath. They spoke loudly as if I wasn’t there. “Ellie the elephant,” and they all hooted with laughter. “Shut up,” Kim shouted, but they laughed at her, too. One afternoon I walked home with Kim and, as we turned onto my road, I gasped. An ambulance was parked outside our house. I ran as fast as I could down the road. The paramedics were walking down the path with Alice who was deathly pale. “What’s wrong?” I panted when Mom came out

17É Ñof the house, crying. “She collapsed. Something’s really wrong.” She climbed into the back of the ambulance and told me to wait indoors for Dad. I let myself in the house feeling sick, wondering what was wrong with my little sister. My stomach was churning with anxiety and I couldn’t concen-trate on the television.  ItwashourslaterwhenDadcamehome.Ijumpedup. “Dad, what’s wrong with Alice?” My heart began to pound when he slumped into his chair and started to sob. I didn’t know what to do. “What’s wrong?” He took a few moments to control himself before answering me. “She complained of a pain in her stomach and…” Another sob escaped from him. “And they took her to the operating room. They say that she’s got a tumor in her stomach.” He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t either. I felt sick. “No!” He nodded. “They’ve had to remove most of her stomach.” He started to sob again and barely got his words out. “And they don’t know if she’ll make it.” “I want to go to the hospital,” I demanded.

18É Ñ “No, there’s nothing you can do.” The weeks after Alice had her surgery were aw-ful. Mom and Dad wouldn’t take me to see her while she was in the hospital, and they wouldn’t say why. I was angry, but when I asked them about it, Mom snapped at me, telling me that they had enough to deal with without me nagging at them. It was like I didn’t exist. Mom and Dad were ei-ther at the hospital or, when they were home, they sat around the table eating. Mom didn’t cook; she just warmed up ready meals or brought take-outshome. Mom would thrust a bag towards me and that was it; they wouldn’t say anything to me. I’d ask Grandma what was happening with Alice, but all she said was, “Don’t upset your parents, they’ve got a lot on their minds at the moment.” One morning as I was about to go out to school, Mom told me that Alice would be coming home that day. I couldn’t concentrate at school at all and prayed for the day to pass quickly. For once I didn’t let the kids’ comments get to me because all I could think of was my little sister. I know I gasped when I saw her sitting in Dad’s chair looking tiny and frail. I cried, but she didn’t. I went to hug her, but Mom screamed at me. “Be careful, you great clod. You’ll hurt her. Leave her alone.” I felt like an oaf. A fat, clumsy oaf, and Alice winced as I backed away.

19É Ñ “I’m sorry,” I muttered, feeling ashamed of myself,yetIwasoverjoyedthatshewasaliveandback home. She smiled at me, and instantly Mom’s cutting words faded away. I bent down in front of her. “It’s so good to have you back home,” I said. “Are you okay?” I had to straighten up, though, as my thighs were so fat that I got cramped and couldn’t stay bent down. Mom spoke for her. “She’s to rest. She mustn’t get too excited. Leave her alone.” And as Mom passed me to go out into the kitchen, she hissed in my ear, “She nearly died, y’know.” I wanted to cry. I was only asking if she was okay. I had been so scared… no one had told me anything. My stomach was churning with anxiety. That evening Dad was late getting home. Alice stayed propped up in Dad’s chair while we ate. Mom put a huge plate of fried chicken in front of me. I was still feeling sick, thinking that my little sister could’ve died, and I didn’t feel hungry. “I can’t eat all that,” I’d said to Mom. It was as if a tightly wound up coil sprang loose, and from nowhere she began to scream at me. “You’ll eat it. How could you be so ungrateful? There’s your little sister, nearly died, had most of her stomach cut out, and she’d give anything to be able to eat properly. But all she can look forward

20É Ñto is milkshakes or, when she’s fully recovered, a few mouthfuls of food. She’ll never be able to eat properlyagain.”Shewassomadthatspitewoutof her mouth at me. “Eat your food and don’t be so ungrateful.” I ventured to ask her what she meant, and she hissed at me under her breath so that Alice wouldn’t hear. She said that all Alice had now was a tiny pouch for a stomach, which meant that she would never be able to eat a proper meal again. Her face was contorted, and I didn’t know what I’d done to make her so mad at me, so I ate all the fried chicken on my plate in the hopes that she’d calm down. Every mouthful was like card-board, even though I could feel the fat burst into my mouth as I chewed. I didn’t want to swallow it. I felt so guilty and bad for my little sister that I chewed and chewed, forcing the mass down over my tonsils, taking a swig of water to wash it down into my stomach. Assoonas Inished, Iwenttomyroomtodomy homework. I heard Dad come in. He came to my room a few minutes later, his face very red. “Ellie, Mom tells me you were causing trouble at dinnertime. Cut it out, okay? Can’t you see that we’re having a hard time here?” He turned around without waiting for me to say anything and slammed the door. That night I cried myself to sleep. I was so

21É Ñrelieved that Alice was going to be all right, but mingled with my relief was anger at my mom and dad. Why hadn’t they told me what was going on with her? I had been eaten up with anxiety. And why was Mom so angry with me? I hadn’t done anything. It wasn’t my fault that I could still eat properly and Alice couldn’t. Why was Dad so angry with me? How come neither of them could see that I’d been worried, too? In fact, I think I was probably more worried than they were because no one would tell me anything, and frankly, I thought Alice was dead and they were too scared to tell me. Something strange started to happen in our fam-ily. I don’t know if Mom was having trouble accept-ing the fact that Alice had nearly died and couldn’t eat properly, but she seemed to have a mental block every time she cooked dinner. She made the same amount of food as she used to before Alice had her surgery, so there was always food left over because Alice could only eat a few mouthfuls. I began to hate dinnertime because the air was heavy with anxiety, and my stomach churned with apprehension. I didn’t understand it, but it hap-pened without fail — as soon as I’d clean my plate, Mom would scrape all the leftover food, Alice’s share, I guess, onto my plate and demand that I eat it. If I tried to protest and tell her that I was full, she’d launch into one of her lectures about being grateful that I hadn’t nearly died or had to have

22É Ñmost of my stomach cut away. Dad was no help; he just mumbled under hisbreath, “Don’t upset your mother; just eat it,okay?” AndsoIatejusttoshutthemup,butitdidn’tsilence the kids at school. They never missed a chance to call me names, and as I got fatter, the name-calling got worse. I was grateful to Kim, for she had a sharp tongue, one that matched the bul-lies’ venom, and often they came off worse when they picked on me with Kim around. Kim meant everything to me, and I felt safer at school when she was with me. What she thought mattered to me. She was crazy-mad about swim-ming and talked all the time about representing the country in the Olympic Games when she was older. I’d go with her to the swimming pool, even though I felt self-conscious in my swimsuit, but it wasn’t too bad because there weren’t any kids from school there. They didn’t think it was cool to go to the pool when all the old folks were there. Most of the kids would go to the other pool across town, the one where all the kids hung out and showed off in front of each other. A trainer shouted at Kim, telling her to straighten out her arm. He tossed the odd comment my way to try and help me improve my strokes, but I could tell that he didn’t think very much about me — it was Kim he cared about. I didn’t mind, though, because

23É Ñalthough I was good at it, I could take it or leave it. I only really went with Kim out of loyalty because she was such a good friend to me at school. We sat at the side of the pool while a group of women took their turn, and Kim turned to me and said, “Look at her.” She nodded towards a woman who was huge. She waddled towards the pool, her ass massive and her thighs rubbing together. “Her ass looks like the back of an elephant.” The woman had folds of fat hanging from her arms, and her legs were like gnarled old tree trunks. Her stomach hung almost to her knees. Kim whispered in my ear, “That’s revolting. I can’t help it, I hate blubber. It makes me feel sick. How can anyone allow themselves to get that way?” She shook her head. “It’s beyond me.” I felt my face burn brightly, and I felt sick. Okay, I wasn’t anywhere near as fat as that lady, but I was fat. Is that what Kim really thought about me? I became very quiet, and as we walked home Kim askedmewhatwaswrong.Ijustsaid,“Nothing.” That night I stood in front of the mirror in my roomwithnoclotheson,andIfelthorriedwhenI saw the rolls of fat spreading from my stomach, around my hips and ass and ending at my chunky knees. My breasts weren’t like Kim’s pert, little neat ones that stayed put — mine had a will of their own;theyhungdown.Iputonmypyjamasquickly,vowing never to look in the mirror again.

24É Ñ It took me ages to get to sleep because Kim’s words echoed around my head. “That’s revolting. I can’t help it, I hate blubber. It makes me feel sick.” I really valued what Kim said; she’s my best friend. Her words seemed to inhabit my head, like a scurry-ing rat searching for tidbits, a “worry rat,” gnawing its way into my brain. Did Kim think my rolls of fat, blubber, were revolting? I tossed and turned all night, and when my alarm broke into my troubled sleep, I dragged myself to the shower, heavily. I was glad that the bathroom mirror was steamed up; at least I didn’t have to look at myself. “Don’t forget to pack your swimsuit and towel,” Mom had barked at me, as I was about to head out of the door. “It’s the school swimming tournament today. It starts at one o’clock. I’ll be there.” I groaned. I had forgotten. Each summer dur-ing the last week of the school year, every kid had to enter the swimming tournament to earn points for their school “house.” We only had to swim one length, and I could do that easily, but I didn’t want to because I felt self-conscious standing there in my swimsuit in front of loads of kids. It was a differ-entmatterbeingnearlynakedwithjustKimandaload of fat old ladies, but standing there with my swimsuit cutting into my rolls of fat, in front of all the kids who called me names, was mortifying. I couldn’t even skip school because Mom was going

25É Ñto be there with the other parents. I couldn’t concentrate in class, and the morning stretched before me like a never-ending path that led to a chasm, one that I knew I was going to fall intowhenInallyreachedit.Theteachersshoutedat me to pay attention, and my stomach was so knotted that twice I had to be excused to go to the bathroom. The third time I asked, I was refused. So I sat in my seat clenching my buttocks together, absolutelyterriedthatI’dsoilmyself. I couldn’t eat any lunch, and as the minutes ticked by towards twelve thirty, when all the kids had to be seated in rows around the pool, I was beside myself with anxiety. “C’mon,” Kim had said, trying to coax me as we changed in the locker room. “You’ve done this a hundred times with me; you can do this.” “Yeah, but that was different. There were only old ladies watching us…”Ididn’tgettimetonishsayinghowIfeltbe-fore the coach told us to line up, head for the pool and take our seats with the other competitors. I wrapped my towel around my body and was grate-ful that Mom had bought an over-sized beach towel. At least I felt covered, but I hung my head as I lined up and followed Kim to our seats. The sun was sparkling on the pool, and any other time I’d have thought it was pretty. But as the kids started hooting for their favourites, the only thing

26É Ñon my mind was getting it over and done with as quickly as possible. I could see Mom seated next to Kim’s mom, but I didn’t wave like some of the other kids did. It was like a relay race. Once we got out of the pool at the opposite side, the next person could dive in and swim back to the other side, get out, and then the next team member would dive in and do the same. Despite the sun beating down on me, I was shiv-ering. The principal made a short speech welcoming the parents, and then he wished us all luck. The coach told us to line up in our places, and reluc-tantly I dropped my towel and stood in line, folding my arms trying to hide my huge breasts. They hung even lower in my swimsuit, as there was no support in it. My face was burning. Astherstinlineofallsixteamsdoveintothepool, all the kids watching began screaming for their teams. The noise was deafening. I stood with trepidation eating at my stomach as the line before me whittled away, and my turn got nearer. TherewasjustKiminfrontofmeandourteamwas winning. She dove into the pool and shot across the length, taking us even further into the lead. I watched Kim get out of the pool, and the girl op-posite then dove in and sliced through the water towards me. I knew that all eyes were now on me, andIcouldn’tbearit.Ijustwantedittobeover.

27É Ñ The girl hauled herself out of the pool easily, and the moment she was out, I dove in and swam as fast as I could. As the opposite side of the pool gotnearer,reliefoodedthroughme.ThankGod,itwould soon be over. But I was wrong. I stood up once I’d reached the other side and placed my hands on the wet concrete, pushing with all my might to haul myself out of the pool, but I couldn’t do it. “Come on,” shouted the girl who was waiting to dive in.Itriedagainandagain,butIjustcouldn’thaulmyselfout.Icouldhearkidsjeeringandlaughing,and I wanted to die with shame and humiliation. I almost made it one time, but my body was so heavy thatIjustcouldn’tmanagetomakethatnalpushto land on the wet concrete, and I fell back into the water like a grotesque whale coming up for air. Tears poured down my face as all the kids sitting in the rows around the pool hooted with laughter. My teammates were shouting at me, “We’re goin’ to lose,getout,”buttryasImight,Ijustcouldn’t. Kim pushed past them and leaned over offering me her hand. She gritted her teeth and pulled as hardasshecould,butIjustfellbackintothewateras my weight was too heavy for her. Another girl helped her and they tried again, but it was still no good. In the end the coach and another teacher had to

28É Ñcome and haul me out. I scraped my stomach and my shins on the edge of the pool, but the pain was nothing compared to the pain I felt inside me as the kids watching roared with laughter. My teammates cussed at me, as they tried to catch up with the other teams, but it was no good; we came in last. I stood there, without my beach towel, which I’d left on the opposite side of the pool, with my vile body for all to see, along with my humiliation and shame. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me. “You fat bitch,” our team captain hissed at me. “You’ve cost us the cup.” And even though there were teachers around and parents watching, she spat at me. Icouldn’tstanditanylonger.Ijusthadtogetaway, and so I ran as fast as I could back to the locker room, my thighs rubbing together and my breasts bouncing as I puffed my way up the path. All I could hear was laughter ringing from the rows of kids watching me waddle away. I didn’t bother to dry myself; I couldn’t, my towel was still by the pool. I dressed as quickly as I could, so that I wouldn’t have to endure my team’s accusations when they came to change, and I ran from the school. An hour later Mom arrived home. I stayed in my room because I didn’t want to see her or hear what she had to say. I was too humiliated. I lay on my

29É Ñbed feeling miserable and thinking about why I was so fat. Images of Mom scraping Alice’s food onto my plate popped into my head, and anger coursed through me. I felt as if Mom were fattening me up like a turkey for Thanksgiving, and as I thought it, something happened inside me. I wasn’t going to let her scrape Alice’s food onto my plate anymore, and I didn’t care if Mom got mad. Later, when she called me downstairs at dinner time, I could feel the anger bubbling up inside me. As I went through the door, she looked up at me, and I could see contempt on her face. “You really embarrassed me this afternoon,” she said. In that split second something snapped inside me, and my anger boiled over. • • • • “This is all your fault,” I yell at Mom. “What d’you mean? How can it be my fault?” she demands as she puts a huge plate of fried chicken on the table. And not waiting for an answer she says, “Sit up to the table and eat your dinner.” “No! I’m not eating it.” She turns on me with deance contorting herface, and says, “Oh yes you are, my girl.” My heart races as I look at her. She’s the reason I’m so fat; she’s the reason that today was the worst day of my entire life. I can never face the kids at school again because of her. As we stare at each

30É Ñother, locked in a confrontation that, this time, I refuse to back down from, I can see that she hates me as much as I hate her. I sweep the plate of greasy fried chicken off the table, and as it ies across the oor and the dogrushes over to gobble it up, Mom explodes and slaps me hard across the face. I run to my room, my face stinging as tears roll down, and I throw myself on my bed.