I was a teenager when I became anorexic, almost by default. At the time, I said I was losing weight so I would feel better about myself. Looking back, I know I was lying. I cared more about what other people thought of me than how I thought of myself. I wanted people to like me. I wanted them to think I was beautiful. As long as they though I was pretty and they appeared to like me, I was happy with me.
The first week, I simply cut my meals in half and exercised more. I lost around 12 pounds that first week. I continued this routine the rest of the month, but each week, the amount of weight I'd lost would decrease. Everyone told me I looked pretty, and that if I lost just a few more pounds I'd look beautiful. I eventually started what I called a gram stack journal.. I allowed myself only so many calories a day and everything I ate had to be non-fat. I would write down my intake and perfected my routine until I always consumed less than I was allowed.
During the next couple of months, I ate less and exorcised more. In such a short time, I went from eating one meal a day to not eating at all. I was becoming a skilled artist at hiding dark circles and wearing hats to cover my thinning hair. In just a little over four months, I lost over 75 pounds and went from a size 24 to a size 12/14. I was thin, but there were still parts of me that looked fat, so I continued.
By the end of high school, everything seemed out of order. My world seemed to be falling down around my feet. I was leaving my friends, having to leave behind many high school memories and worried about having to re-do myself in order to fit in at college. With everything happening so fast, eating seemed like the only thing I could control. I soon found out that eating was the one thing I had no control over. Part of me wanted to eat, to give my body what it was denied for so long, but I couldn't.
It took more than a year for a few people to realize that I had an eating disorder. Even when I sat some family members down and told them I needed help, I was told I was not anorexic. I simply had a few days of "misplaced meals." To this day, there are some people in my family who do not acknowledge that I ever had an eating disorder. Four years have passed since I sought help for my problem. Four years seems like such a long time, but it is merely the beginning of the life-long journey I will take in recovering from anorexia. I still suffer the side affects my obsession has given me. My fingers are always cold, and my hair has remained thinner than normal. To this day, I cannot eat certain foods because I remember how many calories and fat grams are in them. To this day, I have a hard time getting on a scale without feeling fat and looking in a mirror without seeing fat.
For me, the mentality behind my Anorexia is something that has never gone away. It is buried deep, haunting me and calling my name. Everyday is a struggle for me. Some days are harder than others. I've been lucky. For four years I've been able to say no. It is a task much easier said than done. Today I chose to eat. Tomorrow I can only hope to do the same.
If you think you know someone who might be suffering from any eating disorder, don't keep silent. Your voice could be just what they need to get help.
