I remember when the OCD first struck. Sure, there had been plenty of signs of anxiety and obsessionality before then, but on one December day of my ninth grade health class, my OCD came crashing down with a thunk. We were learning about AIDS, and I promptly freaked. Freaked is, perhaps, an understatement. I had an anxiety attack so intense that I ran to the bathroom, threw up (not intentionally, I was just so anxious that I couldn't keep my breakfast down), and washed my hands. Twice.

And that was the beginning of that.

I wasn't especially anxious about AIDS before this incident. I mean, I was a little bit, but nothing even remotely crippling. A little anxiety can be a good thing in terms of disease prevention. It might make you think twice before sharing a needle or having unprotected sex with a stranger. But this was the mid-90s, and the second round of AIDS hysteria was picking up. The second round was more a This-Can-Happen-To-YOU kind of moralizing, and news pieces on TV and in magazines only confirmed what I was already afraid of. It wasn't just a random 15-minute video in health class, these fears were all around, all the time. Every article, it seemed, only confirmed my nagging fears that people were simply germ-spreading machines. I was smart to be worried. I was right. Why weren't others so worried? What was wrong with them?

Granted, most people I knew weren't scrubbing their hands in Ajax and puking from anxiety, but still.

The last line in a Guardian UK piece called "Pure food obsession is latest eating disorder" got me thinking along this line. The article looked at the seeming rise in rates of orthorexia, or an obsession with healthy eating. The last quote of the article, by nutritionist Deanne Jade, was what stuck with me:

"And just look in the bookshops – all the diets that advise eating according to your blood type or metabolic rate. This is all grist for the mill to those looking for proof to confirm or encourage their anxieties around food."

This quote reminded me of the beginnings of my OCD: everywhere I turned, my fears were confirmed. I couldn't convince myself that this was not a smart thing to be worried about--or, at least, so worried about. I was aware that my behaviors were bizarre and my fears overwhelming, but when you see all of this hysteria all around you, it's kind of hard to realize that you have an actual brain disease.

Is this rise in orthorexia a bit more complex than this? Of course it is. There has been an increase in a wide variety of specialty foods that allow people to custom build their diets. For those with real dietary limitations, this is great. But it also has allowed those who have food anxieties to avoid anything anxiety-provoking. And as someone with plenty of food anxieties, I can attest that any magazine will confirm my fears of becoming fat or of eating too much or of not eating the "right" foods in the "right" quantities at the "right" times.

A little anxiety over food isn't necessarily bad. Roaches don't add flavor, and neither does Salmonella. But considering how much we are all fanning the flames, it's little wonder that the severe, clinical fears are only rising.

The battle of the Supers! The Clash of the Titans! I am Spartacus!

I am Spartacus! I am Spartacus! I am Spartacus!

Sorry. This post has nothing to do with Spartacus.

What it does have to do with is our strange, messed up society that has Mickey D's commercials immediately preceding those for Weight Watchers or Jenny Craig. We have Super-size and Supermodels. Super everything. Supersized fries are evil, supermodels are evil.

We are, it seems, a culture of extremes. The larger our portion sizes get, the smaller we're supposed to look. And, in a way that only Americans can, we're beginning to tackle the issue.

Health class. I remember my first health class. Fifth grade, the filmstrip "You're Becoming a Woman Now," where a pimply faced girl with one of those side ponytails (this was 1990, keep in mind) slides a Kotex into her backpack. End of story. Both the ponytail and the whole notion of a "filmstrip" date me horribly, but still.

Now we try to terrorize children into the dangers of the world around us. Yes, the world can be a dangerous place. You can get raped, mugged, kidnapped, beaten, the clap, AIDS, fat. The whole nine yards. So we show SuperSize Me and have 11-year-olds read "Fast Food Nation." I'm not saying go Biggie size your fries every single day. But if you have a hankering for fries, then go for it.

The supreme irony is that this lecture is, no doubt, followed by the one on eating disorders. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to connect the dots.

There is a book out called Fat is a Feminist Issue. Since I haven't read it, I won't comment upon it. What is interesting is how the whole notion of "Fat" as a social concept has changed. Fat is no longer (just) a feminist issue. Fat is a fear issue. One should be afraid of fat and obesity, of the millions of Americans just lumbering along down the street, arms swaying in the breeze, gleefully munching away on hot dogs. I remember watching ads for Sweatin' to the Oldies, and watching Richard Simmons cart the extremely obese out of their homes on a forklift. A couple of tapes and some spangly shorts later- fit and fabulous!!!

Again, I suppose this dates me horribly. But anyway.

People do not typically change their behavior because of a fear somewhere down the line. So we start telling kids "You're getting fat! Just look at that adipose multiply! You can see it before your very eyes! Don't touch that french fry!!!" So you take a kid prone to anxiety and make them fear fat. So they cut fat out of their diet. Except in a small percentage of the population, they keep going. And going and going and going, a veritable Energizer Bunny of dieting.

To be sure, health classes usually have a lecture on eating disorders, which tends to be quite "tippy" if you ask me. Thin is good, fat is bad, so anorexia must be, like, awesome. Sorry, but that's the message out there.

I'm not one of those people who idealizes the past and thinks that everything was better back then. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. But let me tell you this: if I want a Snickers bar, then I'm damn well going to have one.

That's so super.