I think I can tell this story.
Now.
My senior year of high school, I was required to take US Government. I requested to take it first semester because I was flirting with the idea of graduating early. My request was granted and when September started, I filed in my window seat at AT’s US Government class. Although I had many friends at the time, my closest friends were my running shoes and the still sunned pavement. Per my near obsession with running and my (girl) friends’ budding relationship with weekend partying, I felt isolated around people, which only acted as a catalyst for longer runs.
The longer I ran, the skinnier I got and although I wasn’t intentionally restricting food, calorie counting and label reading rapidly became a side hobby. My friends and family commented on my frail frame, and my response was always, “I’m healthy. It’s healthy to run. I’m doing what’s good for my body.” I was impossible to argue with the more commentary garnered about my size, the more I ran, the more I monitored my food intake. In defense of my friends and family, they had my well-being in mind (although at the time, I didn’t see it that way).
One commentator, though, regardless of his said intentions, proved to be grossly destructive. AT
The exact date has become clouded in memories that I’ve spent considerable time trying to erase, I believe it to be sometime in November. AT urged our class to study for an upcoming test. I slipped my bony hand into my backpack, pulled out my notebook, and before I recall the dates surrounding the Stamp Act and Boston Tea Party, I was interrupted.
“Nat, come here please.”
What? Why was AT calling me? I didn’t cheat, I never talked out of turn, I wasn’t at risk for failing. Burried in my mom’s baggy sweat pants and a too big t-shirt, I sauntered to the hall where AT was waiting for me.
Turn around. No, all the way around
Nat, I’ve noticed you’ve gotten really skinny.
Nat, I had an eating disorder. Let me tell you about my eating disorder.
Nat, I want to help you.
Nat, if I were 18, I’d want to date you.
His hand slid across my face, his eyes perused my body like a hunter eyeing his terrain.
How much did you weigh last year?
110
How much do you wear this year.
95. I run a lot. My first true love broke up with me, I stopped eating, but I eat really healthy now.
You have a problem, Nat. I want to help you. I want to help you. I want to help you.
Eyes
Hands
Eyes
Hands
Eyes
Eyes
Eyes
Why is he looking at me?
If you gained weight, it’ll go to your boobs. Your eyes are sunken in. You were so beautiful. You are so beautiful.
Test? Studying?
I’d date you if I were 18. Don’t you want boys to date you?
Class. We have class.
Nat, come to my room tomorrow morning.
I want to help you
Help you
Help you
Help you
I didn’t go to his room the next morning. Instead, I wore clothes that fit me and reveled in the fact that my school was on block scheduling and I wouldn’t have to see AT.
Reveling was short-lived because the next day, I had AT’s class.
Nat, why didn’t you come to my room? You looked nice yesterday, your pants showed off your nice little booty. Tomorrow, come to my room?
I went to his room the next day. He rolled his eyes at the student studying and motioned me to the hall, where he met me.
I’m okay, I’m leaving to go to college, its been a rough semester. I’m excited for change.
I can help you. I will save you. I will measure you body fat with the scale the wrestlers use, underwater. Naked. Then, you’ll know you have a problem.
I’m leaving. The only response I could generate was to run. And so, I did.
For the longest time, though, running wasn’t satisfying. Each time my toes nestled into my running shoes, I heard AT.
You need me. You need me. I can save you.
Help
Help
Help
I didn’t need saving from an eating disorder or an unhealthy relationship with running. I needed saving from AT, from a man who zeroed in on a problem, exploited it, and led me to believe that he was the Christ-like savior that could offer me redemption.
Salvation, though, came uniquely, through a most unlikely means.
I was living in New Jersey, I hadn’t seen AT for years although I felt his presence in the hatred I felt for myself and my body. It was late April and I experience an eureka moment
I didn’t want AT in my life, I didn’t want his stone-like hand to harden any more of my spirit. With that, I forgave him. I whispered
I don’t need you
I never needed you
Where insecurity reigned, undeniable confidence slowly seeped into my soul again. Where feelings of uncertainty and hatred resided, peacefulness began knocking. Where lies had subsisted my every thought and action, truth telling took over. Running from AT only ever exhausted me, but when I recognized him for what he was (a predator), I was able to forgive his ill actions and through that, I gained myself, my soul, my spirit.
AT didn’t teach me how to love, he taught me fear and hatred and shed a heavy veil on my life for too long a period. When the veil tore, though, and I chose forgiveness, I learned how to love.
Love me, love living.
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