Forgive me if I don’t make any New Year’s Resolutions.
You see, it was a New Year’s resolution that led me to behavior that almost killed me.
New Year’s Eve, 1990. I’m 18 years old, in love with a boy who is completely indifferent to me, yet strings me along, seemingly for fun.
He’s cheated on my for the last time, I vow. I break it off.
I vow to lose the 20 extra pounds I carry and make him want me.
I spend New Year’s Eve scarfing down a cheeseburger, fries and a bag of my favorite chips.
I wash it all down with Coke and Mountain Dew.
At midnight, I pour what’s left of my 2-liter down the drain.
And I’m done.
The next day, I eat Lean Cuisines and drink Diet Pepsi.
For the next two months I avoid junk food and nurse on a water bottle.
And I do it. I lose the 20 pounds.
And he’s jealous. And he wants me back.
Of course I go back.
I learn that that is a good way to lose weight: binge all you want—you know, get it out of your system.
Over the next 16 years, it’s a tactic I employ time and time again.
Only, I don’t wait for New Years; I do it all the time.
And it doesn’t work. Oh, the bingeing works just fine. I am the queen of binge eating.
But the getting it out of my system? Doesn’t happen.
I balloon to 336 pounds. I am sick.
You probably know the rest by now.
I know lots of people make New Years Resolutions that work.
But if you don’t mind, I’ll skip that tradition.