We assume that pictures offer us a uniform, indisputable reflection of reality. Picture proof, so to speak, of the way things were. Full stop.
But as I read your responses to my old pictures yesterday, I was surprised at how differently we interpreted the exact same images.
We forget, sometimes, how much our own experiences color, shape, and distort our own perceptions. Sharing those childhood photos with you was an interesting reminder for me of the backstory behind the pictures – the moments captured in freeze frame that were part of larger lifetimes – and the ways that those stories have shaped me.
This may be the only picture ever taken of my collar bones.
I have, by nature, a generally cherubic appearance. My face is round, my body a series of rolling hills and gentle slopes. I’ve lived most of my life under the protection of some form of baby fat. Even in a size 6, I’m safely padded from the dangers of sharp corners (I like to think of that as Darwinist evolution).
But in this picture – in this extracted snapshot of reality – I have collar bones. And pointy elbows. And, if you look close enough, an almost complete jawline.
At a time in my life when I was fascinated with the power my body could wield, I was beyond thrilled to find myself in a newly thin and shockingly angular model. For that brief moment in time I felt like I was sexy in exactly the way that society had defined it.
My mother hates this picture.
She, too, sees the collar bones. And the newly defined lines in my neck. And she is reminded not of the lithe body of a healthy teenager, but of a constant fear that plagued her home for months not so many years ago.
I had stopped eating. Not on principle or conviction or some new tabloid touted diet. But from grief.
A month before this picture was taken I suffered my first heartbreak.
Except that sentence isn’t enough. That word – heartbreak – is too common place and overused to describe the savage beating my insides took back then. I was not just broken, I was shredded. I was cut and ripped and left bleeding and sobbing in pieces in a wasteland I didn’t recognize.
Even knowing now, as an adult, that everyone endures a painful break up at some point – it is hard to let go of that old belief that no one had ever hurt as badly as I did.
I know. I know. But reason is useless in the face of that much pain.
I suppose that’s why my mom still hates that picture so much. The grief is simply too big for logic. Or perspective.
Even though time has told her that her little girl will heal and grow up and live to eat another hamburger, her own pain was too much to outgrow.
When she describes it to me now, I am ashamed at how my hurt cost her. She tells me about listening to That Damn Song play on repeat over and over again for days, the lyrics taunting my parents from behind a closed bedroom door. And about how she wished I would ask to leave the house, wished I would latch on to anger instead of sadness. Wished I would do something, anything, to show there were signs of fight in me. But mostly it’s what she doesn’t tell me…
I was so afraid that you’d…
that you might…
I just didn’t know if you could…
My mother thought I might die. Kill myself, more specifically. And she stood vigil over me for months in the hopes that she’d be there to catch me just in time if I ever decided to fall.
It’s that waiting, I think, that she sees. Not the cheap blue silk or the perfectly piled hair. Not the new waistline or the borrowed shoes. Not even the diffident smile that says I’m trying.
But the collar bones. And the hours spent outside my door in hopes that her daughter would emerge again someday.
But not me. Oh, no. That picture holds no ghosts for me. I know I was on my way back by the time this picture was taken. I know that the poor bastard standing beside me, the one who so generously offered to mend my broken heart, would all too soon become collateral damage of my recovery.
And I know that junior prom would be the very last time those collar bones would ever see the light of flashbulbs. So, it’s not that picture’s story that tears me up.
It’s this one.
I like you much better without the pointiness.
I CAN’T BELIEVE I’M HERE!
Mozilla (on my husband’s computer) has held me hostage for about 97 days.
I like you better without the collarbones and broken heart.
And… it’s post like these where I am slapped in the face why, over a year ago now, I added you to my feed reader and have read every. single. update. since then.
Because beyond the HIL-AR-IOUS entries that you write at times. Or the ones that remind me of EXACTLY what I’m going to be like in five or ten years when I’m the same age as you are now, married, with a couple of kids underfoot. Or the ones that you talk openly about the depression you’ve been dealing with – the very one that echoes the sound of the battle I’ve fought with it time and again. Or the entries where you show a lifetime of love and relationships that have stood the test of time.
No… beyond all that…
It’s that, every so often… above the daily grind that you write about with talent and clarity… is the REAL heart of Miss Britt herself. The one that you have learned to guard to a degree – at least on here. The one that peeks up through the stress and just… “things” you deal with on a daily basis.
It’s one of *those* entries. Where you’ve cut away all the layers that make you who you are… and just let us see the open, exposed, heart that you have.
And it’s beautiful. Just like you!
Thanks for sharing, Miss Britt!
I know there was a point when I was just over the age of 18 where I was non “cherubic”…not from not eating, just from walking EVERYWHERE and of coarse, not eating the best..i was a single mom and i looked GOOD…however, i too have always been soft and round..my sister made it down to TINY..where at my smallest i still weighed in at 150 and was a size 9/10…i ain’t lyin’ when i say i’ve got big bones..right now, i’m got a lot of “padding” on top of those bones, but i digress..i’ve had those heartbreaks, we all have…we all handle them differently too…me, i never stopped eating..i’d go have random sex…not exactly the healthiest alternative huh?…i can understand why that photo pains your mom..now, why does the 2nd photo bother you?
I’ve been lurking a week and finally couldn’t resist the urge any longer. My jaw dropped from your previous post–the photo of you young and awkward (with the seriously short hair) looks exactly like my young and awkward childhood photo. Exactly. REALLY. Only in mine, I’m wearing pajamas with feet.
But really, your post today instantly triggered memory of a family portrait where I look so happy and cute but I can remember in infinite detail how pissed and full of rage I was that day. How confused and upset and seemingly disconnected from anyone who really knew me. The depth of that pain just caught in my throat. Yeah, so… been there.
While I think you look beautiful in the first, I think you’re much more beautiful in the second.
This post reminded me of my first heart break too. I despised hearing songs about hearbreak cause it reminded me of how this happens to pretty much everyone and I thought that was craaaaaaaaaaaap, I refused to believe this kind of pain was commonplace.
Great post and love the pictures.
What an excellent look into the two directions a photo can take for people.
my eyes won’t stop leaking to properly type.
xoxo
I’m probably missing something. Is the second photo one of you and your husband?
Also, I agree with others: you look better in the second photo.
Such a moving, poignant post. Behind every picture there is a real story, that’s for sure. You got me with this one, Britt. I’m having a little sniffle right now.
Uh… If you ever go through heart break again in the future… (God forbid) Can I be your collateral damage? Pleasepleasepleasepleasepease?
You look better without the collarbones. I know you probably know this by now, but collarbones don’t equal sexy (and on you not healthy either). I’m a size six and I have collarbones. And tiny wrists. And a soft, round face and hips and a butt.
BTW – Collateral Damage? Hottie.
I just don’t understand why it’s so important to have your collarbone showing in the first place.
I think you look great in the second photo!
I’ve thought about you all morning sine we talked and you warned me this post was up.
Thought about your courage and strength and that of your brothers as well for their heartbreaks. Thought about how, through it all, the four of us have always rallied around each other, threatening all interloping intruders.
I would give all I have if I could have spared you that pain.
I love you, little one. And I would still kill that Rat Bastard given half the chance.
@Britt’s mom – I’ll help ya! You kill him and I’ll dig the hole to bury him in. Deal?
I almost cried while reading this because I can relate to it.
Last year my boyfriend of two years broke up with me for no reason other than he cheated on me, and a week later he MARRIED the girl he left me for.
For a barely 17 year old, my world collapsed. I didn’t eat much, didn’t get out of bed. It was just me and the cat.
I still have our homecoming picture, only because I look fabulous. I put a donkey sticker over his face, it looks much better now:)
When I see I’m reminded of how far I’ve come in just one year, and how much better this past year has been without him.
Thank you for sharing your story. Even old heartbreaks aren’t easy to talk about.
Sadly I can’t tell the difference in your collar bones.
Goooo Britt’s mom!
::sigh:: This makes me so sad for you. But I’m also glad that you were able to get over it and move on.
In the picture with Mr. Collateral Damage, you look like you’re 12 because you’re so little.
Beautiful, hon. Gorgeous. The pictures (even the one with your collar bones) and the story of your first heartbreak. I’m glad you survived it to become the strong woman you are now.
Girls are so weird.
How much time was between the taking of the first and second pictures?
avitable: yes, I know – which is odd considering your normal assertions about what is and is not attractive.
Little Miss Sunshine State: we’re glad you’re here!
Amber: I really should put you in charge of my PR.
In the event that I ever need PR.
Jamie: oh believe me, the random sex was just another symptom.
Thaidyed: well hi – glad you felt like coming out.
Maria: that seems to be the consensus – I was definitely happier in the second. My God was I happy that night.
Bluestreak: I STILL have a hard time believe that kind of heartbreak is common place! How the hell do we survive as a society!?! lol
Blondefabulous: thank you
hello haha narf: awwww, you’re such a softie.
SciFi Dad: no. Actually. That’s the Great Big First Love.
Selma: awwwwwww
Cris: hahahhahahahahaha – y’know, I don’t think that poor guy would advise that for you. I think he would tell you it was pretty sucky on his end of things.
Finn: also? Incredible kisser.
Poppy: well, when you’ve never had them and you’re 17 and feel like everyone else has – your priorities get whacky.
Jer: thanks! (Wait, is it weird to say thanks when that was almost 13 years ago?)
Britt’s Mom: and ironically, he’d have no clue why you’d want to.
Bonnie B.: oh God, I’m gonna get arrested for this blog yet! lol
Ashleigh: the cheating is the worst. The WORST.
Darla: what!?!? are you crazy?!?!? look at the second one – NO BONES!!
Sheila (Charm School Reject): oh you are too sweet – you really don’t have to be sad for me. I was 17. Everything is traumatic when you’re 17 I’m sure.
Coal Miner’s Granddaughter: thanks, hon. I’m kind of embarrassed it still resonates so much with me after all these years.
Clown: the first picture was taken a year AFTER the second picture, actually.
There have been two times in my life where I stopped eating out of grief: when my dad was killed and when I went through my divorce. I lost a ton of weight and everybody told me I looked amazing.
I was dying inside, but damn, I guess I looked good doing it.
Society is so warped.
Mothers are just so…awesome. I think they’re the only ones in this world who really do love us more than we could possibly love ourselves…you know, without being a stalker.
Oh, I remember that first heartbreak. Gawd, the hurt. The awful awful hurt.
I think it’s interesting how, in the pointy photo (haha), you’re hanging on to that guy (asshole -whatever
for dear life. In the second one, you’re more relaxed and at ease.
Definitely the second one.
Your story is so eerily similar to mine, complete with the weight loss and listening to the same song over and over (What it takes by Aerosmith).
There was also lots of chain smoking and driving endlessly thru tears in my 87 Chevy Nova.
I never thought I was going to live through my first break up. It’s funny now when I think about how dramatic I was over the whole thing.
Great post Brit! Wonderful, as always!
I LOVE the stories you tell when I get to know the “inner you” more, if that makes sense. It was almost like I was reliving my past right along with you….but anyway, I agree with your mom. I’ll bring the knives.
Fantastic post.
Broken heart…ah..the first one is the worst. I think you are cute in both, but you are glowing in the first one. I’m sorry the illiterate ignorant asshole didn’t realize how good you were…but then again…all roads lead us to where we live now…and you live in a good place…with your beautiful children.
And by the way? The collateral damage dude? Srsly HAWT.
I existed on Coca Cola for two straight weeks. I didn’t eat Thanksgiving dinner—not one bite.
I was gut shot with a side of collar bones too.
Ginger: give me happy and padded any damn day of the week.
Faiqa: my mom loves me more than ANYONE ever could. I am so unbelievably lucky for that.
Courtney: yep – that says it exactly.
Sybil Law: and the first one? He’s not an asshole, actually, at all.
The second one? That’s the um.. well.. the one that hurt.
Jennifer, Playgroups are no place for children: White Baretta with a sunroof open here.
sam {temptingmama}: it’s impossible at the time to imagine how you will ever come out on the other side of it. Hell, I still deal with that lack of perception and drama NOW! lol
Robin: you make perfect sense. And thank you.
maggie, dammit: thanks babe.
Stephanie: and that particular break up road had a lot to do with leading me to Jared, oddly enough.
Turnbaby: it’s another story not told here – but you and I share something, too. Living with the person who gave you the gut shot.
That’s a whole different kind of… something.
I guess I should understand that, since I did the unhealthy eating thing at that age too… over a guy at one point or two, even.
You have just inspired me to tell a story on my blog.
Thanks for this post. No one really talks about what grief and depression can really do to someone. I went through a period of time of not eating, and it still scares the hell out of me that I did that to myself.
I think I’ll write a blog post about that.
[...] when I hear someone’s story, but I was more than surprised when I read Miss Britt’s post from yesterday. Not many people will talk about eating disorders (I’m using eating disorders as a loose [...]
[...] amazed when I hear someone’s story, but I was more than surprised when I read Miss Britt’s post from yesterday. Not many people will talk about eating disorders (I’m using eating disorders as a loose term, [...]
heheh if you can promise it will be a “sucky” event… I can promise you I will be there! Twice if I am able!!
[...] Miss Britt the Magnificent (because she is) had to go and write a couple of moving posts that got me thinking about these oftentimes painful reminisces that truly (although we have no way of knowing it at the time) have a way of shaping who we, as women, become. How we view the world. How we raise our daughters. And how we help our daughters and nieces and granddaughters and friends mend the awful wounds that never really disappear. Wounds that scar our hearts… but with a layer of protection. [...]