The Ferris Wheel

How would you like to gain complete control over your life?

When I was a little girl, I was obsessed with amusement parks. My parents, being the type who loved their children but were unable to run with us, would take me to fairs mainly to look. It didn't matter that we didn't have enough money to play for hours; I didn't care that I couldn't go on the rides by myself. Just seeing it was enough.

What a riot of color! What a blaze of sound! There were whirlygigs, thingamajigs, whosits and whatsits. People in bright purple shirts beckoned from their brightly-flashing booths. The heady smell of cotton candy and fried dough hung in the air. Giant smiling plushies just begged for a hug. Gears grinded, children shrieked with delight, bells rang. It was a roller-coaster ride of the senses!

There were plenty of rides for kids my age; the ponies, chained to a spinning pillar, walking endless miles through dirty straw. Giant strawberries that twirled sickeningly when a wheel inside was turned; a dragon roller-coaster that chugged along a bright yellow track; cheerful bumblebees that bobbed up and down to corny music. But none of these things mattered to me. What I really cared about was the Ferris wheel.

When we were a couple miles from the fair, I could still see that Ferris wheel. I would squirm eagerly in my seat until we got there, and run straight for it. It was fascinating to watch that behemoth – painted red and blue with sparkles and clowns – send people to the moon and bring them back to earth, over and over again. I could not understand how the man running the machine could look so bored, when something so exciting was happening!

If I begged and pleaded enough, I would sometimes finally convince whoever I was with to ride the Ferris wheel with me. My heart would flutter like a bird's wing as the man laid the bar across our laps and ordered us not to rock the seat. I would grow impatient as other boys and girls were loaded onto the ride. Hurry up already…I'm ready to go to the moon!

But then, oh then – the trip would begin. We would soar, up and up and up, until we reached the very top! There was the water tower, and my favorite restaurant, and oh! – look! – there's my house! Then, just when the height got scary, we would gracefully float down to earth. Over and over again. Sometimes when we stopped at the top, I would rock a little just to scare the bejabbers out of whomever I was with. Gosh, I loved that ride!

On the Ferris wheel, I felt like I was in control. I could fly as high as I dared, and then return to the ground just as quickly. I felt no danger of falling, because there were people paid to make sure the ride was safe. It didn't matter that I didn't have wings and never would; for the three minutes I was on that wheel, I felt like I owned the world.

So when did that all change? When did I stop enjoying the feeling of cotton candy melting on my tongue, the sizzle of dough as it's frying in oil? When did the Ferris wheel lose its magic?

The gloss of magazines, the hype of commercials and music videos, the ruthless bullying in the halls of my school…these things took away the magic and introduced me to reality. The snide comments my family made about my weight, the way the boys would laugh as I walked into the room, the pictures drawn on my locker. The cruel emails that found their way to me, the snickering of the girls as I passed by. The boys who waited for me as I made my way home from school, so they could say what they thought of me away from the prying ears of teachers. The teachers themselves who made fun of me in front of the class.

Yes, these things took away the magic.

Then, when I was fifteen and at the end of my rope, I discovered a new kind of magic. It was a book, whose protagonist was the same me – fifteen, overweight, lonely, and miserable. The catalyst in the book that pushed her over the edge was similar to my own situation at school. After feeling out of control for so long, she discovered a new kind of control – bulimia.

I of course did not know the name of this disease at the time. I only saw it as a new way of losing weight that didn't involve arduous hours of exercise. And I could still eat anything I wanted!  I read the rest of the book, where the character was caught and devastated her family. She was sent to therapy and a "fat camp" where she lost the weight in a healthy manner instead. But I knew I would be smarter than that girl. I would never be caught.

While it is true that I was never technically caught by other people, I was tangled in the nets of my own personal hell. A little here, a little there – it felt perfectly harmless. But, over a period of time, the acid in my stomach began to erode the edges of my soul. What started out feeling like a way to gain control soon turned into a reckless, out-of-control ride.

I was back on the Ferris wheel; only this time, it was not fun. It was not magical. It spun wildly, tilting back and forth, flinging me through a series of highs and lows. I could not remove the bar from my lap and simply get off. This was a Ferris wheel designed in hell. Any minute I felt like it was going to smash me into a million pieces. I yelled for it to stop, but I had become the operator.

Only after I remembered that life was once magical and could be again – that was when I was able to slow the ride down. Little by little, I was able to remove the bar from my lap and stretch. Without the wind and rain lashing my face, I was able to breathe. That was when I realized that other people had been riding with me all along. And the most incredible thing was – they were getting off. It was possible to end the ride and feel the ground under my feet again.

I spoke up. I called out to people watching me from the ground and told them my story. I asked them for help in stopping the ride myself, and they agreed to it. Together, we began working the gears and levers until…finally…the ride came to a shuddering stop.

After nearly six years on the ride, my feet touched solid ground for the first time. And the ones who escaped it worked with me to pull it to the ground, to break it to pieces. The groaning of the gears has stopped; the sickening highs and lows and iron grip it had on me have gone away.

Now I walk beneath the sun and taste the cotton-candy clouds each morning without guilt. I can face the world without shame, and have released the hurts of my past.
Now, when I go to the carnival, the Ferris wheel has regained its magic.

I can't wait to share it with my children someday.