Down the Rabbit Hole

By Georgia Smith

For as long as I can remember I’ve struggled with negative body image. Growing up, the voices in my head ensured I was never truly alone. They were always chattering, reminding me of my inadequacy. In my circle of friends, I was the first to hit my growth spurt, I became a hare lost in a field of rabbits. Thousands of years ago being the first to grow would indicate I was the healthiest of the tribe, but for me it just gave the voices ammunition. It added fuel to the ever-growing fire in my head.

The women in my family have always put up an impenetrable façade, repelling any negativity that came their way. If ever faced with ridicule they would brush it aside with justifications including; “We’re strong!”, “We’re big-boned!” and the like. Their vindications were backed by good intentions, trying to combat any negativity that may have been floating around, but I saw through their charade. It was written all over my mother’s face whenever passing strangers would take a second glance or whisper something under their breath. She projected such positivity for my benefit, when in reality the ridicule penetrated her to her core. Just as most girls do, I idolised my mother growing up. I was a sponge absorbing all her wisdom, a mime mimicking her every mannerism. Consequently, as I became more aware of her hidden anguish, my perceptions of myself deteriorated.

I managed to keep the voices at bay for a while, constantly suppressing their toxic slurs, until one day I fell sick with the flu. It was by no means chronic, just enough to have stopped me from having dinner and breakfast the next morning, but what it triggered was something else entirely. It was the spark that reignited the fiery fury in my head that I had worked so hard to suppress. For the first time in my life I ran my hands down my torso and was able to feel hip bones. Little did I know, this new sensation was the start of a dangerous addiction. I thought “What if I eat a little bit healthier, nothing too crazy, just enough so that I feel better about myself.” This was all well and good, until the chorus in my head chimed in. As I began to see the results of my efforts, eating healthily turned into eating less. To speed up my metamorphosis I took to strenuous exercise. This would have been fine if I had been compensating for my outtake with my intake, but as my thirst for weight loss became unquenchable, my appetite for food diminished.

The harder I tried to gain control over my body, the stronger the voices became. They grew ever louder – high-pitched, insistent and insidious [1]. The further down the rabbit hole I spiralled [2], the sneakier I became, and every meal I skipped was repaid with a grim reward. Whether it was another inch off my thighs or the protrusion of a rib that had previously been hiding, I was still never satisfied. It was just me and the puppet masters in my head. I stopped engaging with the world outside their sadistic theatre, ostracising myself from family and friends, fearing they’d see me for what I really was. A shrivelled husk of my former self. They wouldn’t understand. They couldn’t. I was abandoned. Left to deal with this excruciating, unbearable lightness alone [3].

As my tormentors’ grip on me strengthened, I found myself lost inside of the chaos [4] of my subconscious. Each day felt like a hazy eternity in which the passage of time was distinguished only by how long it had been since my last meal. All I wanted was to disappear. To evanesce into nothingness. Maybe then the voices would hush. It became clear to those around me something had changed. I was unrecognisable, my body decaying right before their eyes. My face gaunt, my spine protruding and my hair falling out in clumps. I barely had enough energy to open my eyes each morning. I’d lie motionless listening to My Chemical Romance’s Cemetery Drive [5] on repeat, wondering if that was how my story would end. As I lost all motivation to be anything other than a disease, I knew that was it, I had plummeted to the bottom of the rabbit hole.

During my descent, the monsters in my head and I began to merge into one volatile entity. Their incessant hiss coalescing with my voice, causing me to spew cruel words at those closest to me. Our goal? To drive my mother to breaking point, maybe then she’d leave me to vanish off the face of the earth. Despite our greatest efforts, however, she refused. There were endless nights she’d waste in despair [6], her silhouette standing motionless in my door frame, watching my chest rise and fall as I fought for each breath. She was there for every spoonful and every blood test and she talked me down every time I wanted to give up and relinquish control to my demons. Her perseverance and strength are what helped me slay my monsters and haul myself back up, towards the light at the end of the tunnel.

[1] Brown, Harriet. (2010). Brave girl eating. New York: HarperCollins.

[2] Carroll, Lewis. (1865). Alice’s adventures in wonderland. London: Macmillan.

[3] de Rossi, Portia. (2010). Unbearable lightness: A story of loss and gain. New York: Atria Books.

[4] Hoppus, M., & Wentz, P. (2010). In transit. On Almost alice. [CD]. California: Buena Vista Records.

[5] My Chemical Romance. (2004). Cemetery drive. On Three cheers for sweet revenge [CD]. California: Reprise.

[6] Tennyson, Alfred. (1855). Maud, and other poems. London: Boston, Ticknor and Fields.