A message to everyone struggling.
My sophomore year of college, when I was 19 going on 20, I developed anorexia. Anorexia was my best friend, we were two peas in a pod. I would obsess over what I was going to eat that day, planning my meals the second I woke up and making sure that nothing would get in my way. I would go to the gym to “allow” myself to eat dinner that night, I wouldn’t eat all day if I knew I was drinking, I would make excuses as to why I wasn’t going out with friends if they were doing anything that involved food. Get a bad grade? Starve. Eat “more” than you should? Starve the next day. Have a fight with a friend? Starve. ED had more rules than Regina George in mean girls did. I was convinced I was happy, I was convinced that everything in my life was so well put together. Though reality was I was falling apart. I stopped caring whether or not this illness would kill me, the idea almost gave me peace. When I looked in the mirror I just couldn’t see what everybody else saw, and to this day that still hasn’t changed unfortunately, but it has become better than it was. I would use my phone calculator to make sure everyday that I didn’t eat 500 calories or less. At the time, that was everything to me. That seemed, normal, to me. Now as I sit here writing that I could almost burst out laughing at how psychotic that sounds 3 years later.
I started seeing doctors more frequently because everyone was getting concerned about me, everyone but me that was. My childhood doctor was the one that finally got me to take a look at my life and realize that I needed to change. He told me that because he was a man he was aware that he couldn’t understand what goes through a teenage girls mind, and that he could only tell me that if I didn’t receive help I would suffer more crucial consequences, hospitalization or even death. Multiple people told me that; other doctors, family, friends, but it wasn’t until somebody admitted that they didn’t understand, that they didn’t blame me for being sick, did I realize that I had a problem. For so long I was fighting myself, lacking self love, because it was the only coping method I knew.
June 23rd 2014: the day that my life started over. Today I have been in recovery for 3 years. Of course I have my bad days, in recovery it may seem like there are more of those than good ones, but every day you wake up and tell yourself you got this. You can get up and eat that bagel for breakfast, you can go to brunch and eat chocolate chip pancakes, go out to dinner with your friends and have dessert. Life is too short to spend it listening to a make believe rule book in your head. Slowly but surely I am learning to separate my voice from EDs voice, it’s difficult I know, but it’s not impossible. Fight yourself for yourself.