Migration Theory

Abstract

Migration Theory Candice May (bio) 1 Once there was a girl who made a castle out of her own body. Inside the castle, she lived as a prisoner on the top floor, high up in the sky. She did a lot of thinking. Every day, she thought about only one thing: food. She thought about warm apple fritters, chocolate cake, and her grandma's whole-wheat bread. She thought about honey, drizzling off a spoon, into a dish of vanilla ice cream. She thought about pizza with fresh basil and mozzarella. Bagels with cream cheese and strawberry jam. Spaghetti. In the castle, there was also a witch who guarded the entrance and hovered between the girl's thoughts. The witch told the girl, You can't have that. And for years, the girl believed her. The girl's bones became bricks and her torso very long, like a column. Her hair thinned and she was cold. Always so cold. The witch liked nothing better than to stand before the girl, holding out forkfuls of food towards the girl's open mouth. You can't have that, the witch taunted. You can't have that. The girl grew skinnier and skinnier, and some people in the real world started to notice. They cooked all of her favorite foods: blueberry muffins, hamburgers, French fries with ketchup. But by this time, the girl was so terrified of the witch that she would not eat one bite, lest the witch punish her. Instead, she ran. She ran up and down the spiralled staircase, up and down the hallways. Her parents and friends begged her: Please, stop running. You're disappearing before our eyes. Won't you leave this castle and the witch behind? They aren't even real. But the girl could not stop. 2 Two ancient parts of the brain, Cortex and Limbic, stand in front of a fridge full of food. They look at containers of leftovers while they talk, occasionally closing the fridge door, opening it again. Cortex: You can't have that. Limbic: Maybe I could just smell it? Cortex: You can smell it for five seconds, but no more. Because then you'll want to eat it. Limbic: Okay. (Opens a container of leftover baked chicken with rosemary, inhaling deeply.) Oh, that's so good. Maybe just a nibble off the end? Cortex: No. You won't be able to stop. You know that. Control yourself! Limbic: Okay. (Closes the container. Sighs.) Cortex: Remember your goals. No food until dinner. Limbic: I remember the best dinner I ever had. I was eight years old. It was my birthday. My mom [End Page 200] cooked hot dogs and I ate three! Packed with relish, mayonnaise, mustard. Chips on the side, and then a homemade strawberry shortcake. It was sweet and thick with icing, and I ate— Cortex: Stop! Control yourself! Stop this immediately. Limbic: I'm sorry. I'm such a fuck up. (Starts to cry.) Cortex: You are so emotional. Limbic: Maybe something from the back of the fridge? (Forages the containers.) Cortex: If you eat something now, imagine how bad you'll feel later. You're too impulsive! Limbic: God, my pulse is starting to race again. I can't breathe. Help me, I can't breathe and my skin is itchy. Oh god, oh god! I can't breathe! (Slams the fridge door.) Cortex: You're just anxious. You wind yourself up too much. We should go for a walk. Limbic: Yes! A walk. How about a run? Can we run? Cortex: Even better. Get going. Limbic: Then can I eat? Cortex: Maybe a little. If you run more than you did yesterday. Limbic: (Pulls on running shoes, races out the door.) 3 You know the stereotypes: high achieving, controlling, vanity-stricken white girl. Also: anxious, people pleaser, obsessive compulsive. There have been many, many psycho-analytical theories. The wicked witch is nothing but your own psyche, nervosa, which causes you to will your appetite away. You're just a nervous, nail biting girl, locked up in your own bones, banging on the walls. Freud figured it out, long ago: you're melancholic with an underdeveloped sexuality...