When my period stopped in 1977 it thrilled and terrified me. Thrilled because it meant I had reached the status of not having enough body fat to sustain a menstrual cycle and terrified because a tiny, low voice said, ''It's hurting you.'' And it was.
My bones began the happy process of leeching calcium out of themselves--preparing to snap. Yet I was only aware that I was freed from the longing to search for my Prince Charming and his penis.
Always afraid that I could never attract the self-validating presence of the mighty dick--Amenorrhea set me free.
Low hormones, no hormones, whatever. I no longer worried that mr cock might never want me - no longer worried that he wouldn't love me enough to stand up and salute--making me a ''fulfilled woman''.
Instead of worrying about men--I stayed awake planning how many sit-ups would burn off the calories in half a cup of fat-free chocolate pudding.
The yearning for a man no longer existed for me--an alphabetized list of calorie contents--now that was SEXY.
I could look at a man like a piece of cold shit--my desire was less than zero. Oh, men were my friends--but below the belt--they bored me.
Starvation was my lover now. And although cruel--he gave me the gifts of an odd arrogance, a strange peace.
Starvation was always there for me--always accepting, never rejecting. He never said ,''You're just not pretty enough.'' He never promised to call and did not, he never rolled his eyes, he never ignored me.
Yes, he was definitely a dictator--making me serve time for every bite of food that entered my body. He could wake me at three am and force me to run in place for two hours. He could make me shake uncontrollably at the slightest breeze because I had no body fat left to insulate me BUT he always rewarded me with the feeling of control.
And this feeling was a million, zillion times better than any orgasm Prince Charming's penis could ever even hope to bring.
Starvation LOVED me and he ravaged me like the consummate lover that he was.