What She Said: Dear Ben from The Bachelor

Dear Ben from The Bachelor,

Last night, watching Kacie B., otherwise known as The Jewish Gremlin, tell you she had an eating disorder was of the most outrageous pieces of television I’ve ever seen. Not outrageous in the way Jamie tranny-lap-raped you later in the episode, but outrageous in the way your beady little puppet eyes stared blankly at this 24-year-old girl as she poured out her heart to you about the darkest time of her life.

Look Ben, even though I saw a piece of your man pussy in that little Kachina doll get-up you wore on the group date, I don’t know you. Maybe you aren’t a totally soulless dildoface. And I get how you’d think you’re some kind of rock star for turning down a blow from Jennifer Love Hewitt before this season started, but news flash: That’s every guy I know! You aren’t a big deal. You know what is a big deal? A girl telling you she starved herself on national television.

Okay, let’s prescind from your shit for a minute and talk about Kacie B.’s anorexia. They say anorexia is a good girl’s disorder, the rejection of food being a way of symbolically rejecting love. It’s a defense mechanism. A way to say to your parents, teachers, lovers, and friends, “If I don’t need your affection then your lack of it can’t hurt me.”  The more concerned people get, the more alluring the problem becomes. The attention feels good. Like a million girls out of your league begging you to propose to them with a Neil Lane ring from the Jared collection.

If you think you’d be freaked dipping The Jewish Gremlin in water, imagine seeing her at 80 lbs with hematomas on her back from sitting in the bathtub. Try to picture the inside of her toilet bowl after she just had fajitas or the inside of her pants after she overdosed on laxatives. Guys like you tend to assume anorexics are girls who don’t like food. Ben, an eating disorder means you are obsessed with food, you fucking Muppet! When you’re starving, it’s hard to focus on anything else.

While you’re wasting whatever brain cells your Brazilian blow-out hasn’t killed on which girl gets a rose, girls like Kacie B. are stressing out about what they had for lunch and how that affects what they can have for dinner. (Diet Coke.)

The worst part of an eating disorder is how long it takes to recover. Gaining the weight back happens almost immediately. But most people spend years trying to rewire their thoughts. Unlike an alcoholic, you can’t just close your eyes and pretend food doesn’t exist, like those assholes that have weddings and only serve lemonade. You have to learn to eat again. You have to not hyperventilate when a restaurant only serves pizza or you find out after the fact that the brussel sprouts were marinated overnight in chicken fat. You have to accept that you aren’t in control, nothing stays the same, and not even the approval of a guy with a fucked up eighth-grade hair cut is worth dying for.

I know the odds of you changing are slim-to-none. To be honest, I wouldn’t enjoy watching your show if you gained too much self-awareness. But your non-reaction annoyed me. That vacant coma-patient-stare should be pulled out for more appropriate occasions, like when a PhD student is trying to ‘rap’ her feelings to you. (Intimacy issues.)

I feel for Kacie B. because I know how much courage that kind of self-disclosure takes. There are so many women out there who aren’t even ready to call their disease by name. Those women are all around you. They are your friends, your co-workers even your weird sister… probably not your mom because we all know that’s just you in a wig. But you get what I mean.

The pain that galvanizes this type of somatization needs to be treated with empathy, or at least a raised fucking eyebrow. Bottom line: If you don’t want to come across as a total douchebag-cashew-nosed-asshole, please wake the fuck up.

Sincerely,
Jenny Mollen Biggs

PS. If you can’t tell, I had an eating disorder.

Jenny Mollen Biggs is an actress and writer living in Los Angeles with two poodle angel muffins and an asshole miniature pinscher. She also has a husband. Keep up with her at IMDB or on Twitter @jennyandteets.

Related on The Smoking Jacket:
When Your Dog is Shitting Condoms (That Aren’t Yours)
From Sloppy Seconds to BFFs