Cornerstone Magazine: Fall 2014 Volume III Issue II | Page 24

Running on Empty
ALANA FELTON

All day, you’ve been waiting to go to Jo’s to get a salad
with avocado on it. You can practically taste it as you are
walking through the doors at 6:15 (you wouldn’t want to
seem too eager and show up right at 6:00). There is the
usual long line in front of the salad station, no big deal.
But when it’s finally your turn and you hear the wonderful
words, “What can I get for you?” you realize that all of the
avocado is gone. You stand there, excitement becoming
disappointment, trying to decide what could possibly make
up for the creamy deliciousness of avocado and end up
settling on some second rate topping. The struggle is real.
As a freshman in high school, I endured my first real struggle.
I had just transferred from a tiny private Christian school
to the local public school. I went from a class of eighteen
people to a class of more than 200. My new high school
could have held the students from my previous school,
kindergarten through twelfth grade, four times over. I walked
through the doors of my new school on that first day and
was terrified. With the sea of people jostling me, I felt myself
pulling into my shell. I was completely lost, utterly alone.
Almost comically naïve, I heard cuss words that I didn’t
know existed. Appalled, I furtively called my mother
from a bathroom stall begging her to take me home, to
return me to my old school. With her abounding wisdom
and maternal kindness she told me to “deal with it.”
And so I did. I found my classes, allowed the crowd to
sweep me through the hallways. I made some friends, but
I was painfully withdrawn and shy. Surrounded by so many
new people, I began to compare myself to them, especially
the other female students. The differences I saw were the
initial tremors that created tiny cracks in my foundation.
I realized that I was not a skilled conversationalist. I did
not know how to flirt, how to make immature, teen jokes.
Moreover, I realized that I was not as thin or as clear skinned
as many of my female classmates. This had to change. In
order to not just enjoy, but merely survive my high school
experience, I decided that I would have to lose weight, to
reach that size zero or two that I thought would automatically
make me fit in with my peers and the jeans they wore.
Rather than pursuing professional help, I took the matter
into my own hands. It was my body and I thought I knew
what to do to fix it. I subscribed to every calorie counting
device, exercise regime and free weight loss website
I could find. I tried to eat healthy and work out, but I
was impatient. I had to lose the weight immediately.
Almost without realizing, I descended into depression. My lack
of success at losing weight led me to fluctuate between binge
eating and starving myself. On my binging days, overstuffed
and miserable, I would force myself to purge. I was sneaky.
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CORNERSTONE Magazine

No one had a clue what I was doing or how I was feeling. I was
scared to tell anyone for fear that I would look weak. Mostly,
I was afraid they would make me stop, and my eating habits
were the only part of my life over which I had complete control.
I remember one evening in particular—my mom had made
one of my favorite meals, and I had way too much. Seconds
and thirds. Excusing myself to use the restroom, I went
only a few feet away from our kitchen to our bathroom
and tried to force myself to relieve myself of the guilt
and the discomfort. But I couldn’t do it. My parents and
brother were only two doors down the hall, what if they
heard me? I had done this so many times before, that I
was sure they wouldn’t. So what was stopping me?
I wasn’t alone in that bathroom as I bowed before that
porcelain god, that despite my feelings of being not
pretty enough, not gregarious enough, not thin enough,
I realized that I was and am enough for God. A verse I
had heard innumerable times in church popped up in my
mind: “Or do you not know that your body is a temple
of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God?
You are not your own, for you were bought with a price.
So glorify God with your body” (1 Corinthians 6:19-20).

By being ashamed of my appearance, I was being
ungrateful for God’s greatest gift to me: my life.
Suddenly, I wasn’t just hurting myself, but I was hurting the
God who created me, who loved me, who made me into an
image of Himself. By being ashamed of my appearance, I
was being ungrateful for God’s greatest gift to me: my life.
I was insulting the handiwork created by his perfect hand.
He died for me and loved me despite my extra few pounds.
This body I’m living in is temporary, mortal, and not mine; I
should be taking care of it as I would my friend’s new car.
At that moment, my faith in God became my own. It was
no longer the faith that my parents and church family
had taught me. I decided that I believed in God by my
own choice, without persuasion. With my newfound
confidence in Him and my faith, I was able to admit to
my mom that I had an eating disorder. It was painful. I