One year after relocating, I took a vacation to Jamaica. It was there, that I met my future husband. My 5'8 frame was weighing in at 122 pounds. I had gained nine pounds throughout the course of 365 days. I was feeling terrific. Despite the weight gain, I still felt thin. I didn't look in the mirror and see fat. I looked in the mirror and was surprisingly appreciative of my figure. I was comfortable in my bathing suit as-is and this was progress.
I wish I could say that at that point I was also no longer using diet pills. However, they remained a staple of each passing day. I've often heard stories of how smokers gain weight when they quit smoking. I was terrified that if I quit taking the pills, I would fall victim of the same fate. Never mind the harm I was doing to my heart - but who needs a healthy heart, when you could have a skinny body. Yes, the mind of an anorexic knows how to prioritize. Thin comes first, health comes last.
I had started a long distance relationship, fallen in love and remained independent. I was in Nashville, Tennessee and he was in California. My new boyfriend was unaware of my eating habits. My new love was unaware of the tactics I went through to remain thin. If he knew, would he be disgusted by me. If he knew, would he sill love me. I led him to believe that my body was simply genetics. The charade was easy to pull off with the distance between us.
Several months had passed and I became a bride. Suddenly I had someone else accounting for my health. I was no longer able to pop pills without being ridiculed and lectured. My husband was not going to allow me to destruct my body any longer. He had fallen in love with the thin version of me. Would he still be attracted to me if I gained more weight? This proposed a problem.