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Recently someone sent me a link to an article about "gainer blogs" -- blogs by people who purposely try to gain weight. I find gainer blogs fascinating, because I spent the better part of ten years trying to gain weight and it was one of the hardest things that I've done.
Six or seven years ago, if I had known about gainer blogs, I would have flocked to them as I looked for information on how to gain weight. I found lots of medical information out there but not a lot of personal stuff, and I really needed the personal stories. You see, for a time when I was 21, I weighed just 104 pounds. On my 5'5" frame that didn't just make me thin, that made me scary thin. That made me 20 pounds lighter than when I had graduated high school three years before. I had to buy a new pair of pants, because all my other clothes were falling off me. The jeans I bought were a size 24. Today I wouldn't be able to get them past my knees, and for that, I am grateful.
To answer the usual questions: No, I didn't have anorexia. I didn't have bulimia. I didn't count calories. I didn't really exercise aside from walking to class and a once-a-month squash game with one of my professors (during which he kicked my ass quite soundly). So why did I weigh so little? In a word, stress. When I am stressed I don't eat, and college was one extended period of stress for me.
Ninety percent of that stress was about money. There never was enough money, or at least that's what it felt like. When I hit 104 pounds, I had more stress in my life than I knew what to do with. In the course of a month, I was homeless (thankfully a friend let me sleep on her floor for the month), broke (there was a mistake made with my student loans), sick (two different kinds of ear infection and a sinus infection at the same time), one of my cousins committed suicide (my "little" cousin), and I was suddenly single after breaking up with a long-distance boyfriend of two years when he didn't understand that I couldn't call him every day seeing as I was, you know, homeless (idiot).
Food quickly became about money -- money that I didn't have. Not that it really mattered, as stress played havoc with my digestive system, and each time I ate, I'd find myself running to the bathroom to be, as one my friends puts it, violently ill. The pounds dropped off.
It took me a couple of months to gain back the first 10 pounds, but longer before it was stable. I'd go up and down four pounds in a week, easily. It was close to a year before I considered myself stable and threw those skinny jeans away, a truly happy day. But all the stress didn't go away, and neither did the relationship between food and money. I remember times I stared at my well-stocked pantry, terrified to eat the food in it. I didn't have the money to buy more food. It would take me another seven years before I got to a point where my BMI did not list me as "underweight." I've managed to keep most of that weight on -- and carry enough on me now that when stress strikes me and I do lose a few pounds, I've got some buffer.
I know that some of you think that the instant weight loss that occurs when I'm stressed might be fantastic. I invite you into a scene of a 22-year-old me walking down a busy street, suddenly overcome with the feeling that I was going to pass out. Or the scene last month at the nursing home when I flew home to sit vigil with my grandmother. I couldn't eat without getting sick, and I sat by my grandmother hoping that no one else could see how badly I was shaking. I lost five pounds in almost as many days. In our society, people would applaud me and tell me that if I could market that diet, I'd be a millionaire. I looked at my hands and legs shaking and mostly wanted to cry, wishing that I could make













