In
the depths of my angsty teen-hood, I once wrote a post on a tumblr-blog titled
“How I sold my soul to the number 1200 and a bowl of lettuce (a very long
rant).” When I first started writing the post you’re currently reading, I
considered just copying and pasting the contents of that old post here. You’re
being spared that post only because upon a scrutinizing re-reading of my old
writing, I couldn’t stomach the poor sentence structure and surplus of adverbs.
Nevertheless, there are parts of it I’m confident that no amount of English
class or maturation will ever allow me to articulate better, or at least not
more genuinely, so I offer you this excerpt:
Last night as I ate a bowl of lettuce for
dinner, a friend enviously remarked “I wish I were as healthy as you are,”
staring down at her taco with remorse. I receive this praise all the time – and
I love it. But sitting alone this morning, drinking a full liter of green tea
to trick my stomach into feeling full, and contemplating what my body will feel
like at its “goal weight,” I don’t feel happy that I had a small banana instead
of a large one for breakfast and I’ve never felt more unhealthy in my life. I’m
not proud I didn’t go to dinner with what could have been new friends last
night, and I’m not satisfied about sitting on my floor instead, pinching at my
legs. I’m two pounds heavier than I was two weeks ago, deeply depressed because
of it, and more aware of my eating disorder than ever. I don’t want to be this
weight or any weight, and I don’t even want to be alive.
I’m the envy of all my friends who hope to
lose weight, I’m “admirably healthy,” and “so skinny.” But the ninety calories
in the watermelon I plan to eat at dinner tonight have more control over my
life, my happiness, and my personal relationships than I do. There will never
be anything healthy about that. Once again, this eating disorder is holding the
rest of my life hostage, and I just want it back.
Eating
disorders are a hellish matter and talking about them can be even more hellish.
There’s no easy way to tell someone that you throw up after you eat or that
your hair is falling out because you’re on the “ABC” (anorexia boot camp) diet.
Having an eating disorder can feel almost like living a double life: the one in
which you act happy and engage normally with other people, and the one in which
you chew your food but spit it out, stand in front of the mirror for hours, and
commit to memory nutritional facts about foods you may be forced to encounter.
I
developed my double life when I was young, and at the time, I didn’t realize it
was happening. It would take years of a cycling through mixed phases of
anorexia, bulimia, and binge-eating before I realized that something was wrong.
Between the seventh grade and my high school graduation I lost, gained, lost
again, gained again, and then finally cumulatively lost over sixty pounds if
you account for all of the losing I’d done. At my heaviest I weighed almost
140 pounds and at my lightest just barely 110. I created my first profile on a
calorie tracking website when I was thirteen years old, and Saturday will mark
the end of my 274th week of actively using it. I’ve documented down
every single piece of food, stick of gum, and sip of liquid that’s entered my
body for the past 1,918 days. One thousand nine hundred and eighteen days of
counting calories. Sometimes thinking about all of this is still mind-blowing
for even me.
But
it’s been six years since the first time I ever skipped a meal, and despite the
constant and difficult battle I fight each day to view food not as a number of
calories, a chunk of my daily food allowance, or an enemy, I am at a healthy
weight living a mostly healthy lifestyle. I gained thirty pounds in my first year of college, got my menstrual cycle back, and stopped hiding from friends and family. Exercising is no longer a punishment, but a hobby I enjoy, and eating is constantly becoming less of a challenge. Eating disorders are not easily beat.
But beating them is not impossible.
There’s
a lot I wish I could say, to my family, my friends, and to everyone about what
I’ve learned from having an eating disorder and about what the experience is
like. I have and could talk for hours and hours about which foods hurt the
least when you throw them back up or what it feels like to have an anxiety
attack because someone invited you to lunch. I have full novels worth of
thoughts to share about which “recovery strategies” work and which ones don’t,
and tons of platitudes and slogans I’ve learned to tell myself in the mirror. But
to spare you the details and the rants, all I hope to impress upon anyone reading
this is these two things:
One.
Eating disorders are not taboo, they are not a sign of weakness, and they are
not a character flaw. Eating disorders are illnesses, serious ones, that have
the highest mortality rate of any mental disorder or syndrome. It can be
difficult to recognize or talk about when you or someone you know has an eating
disorder, but it is something more people need to do. Like most mental
disorders, eating disorders are surrounded by overwhelming amounts of stigma
and misinformation. Eating disorders are not voluntary, they are not glamorous,
they are not just a problem when they are life threatening, and they do not
just occur in women. The more people begin to engage in open dialogue about
eating disorders – what they’re like, how we identify them, and how we prevent (not just treat) them – the more
people will be able to come forward to get treatment. I wish someone could have
told me it was okay that something was wrong and that it was possible to get
better before I had lost so much weight that I had become depressed, infertile,
and detached from my life and aspirations.
Tons
of people, especially young people, are trying to get through the day while
hiding a secret lifestyle, and the stigma surrounding eating disorders is
putting those peoples’ lives and wellbeing at risk. Nobody deserves to be
afraid of food, and no one should have to feel ashamed or demonized on account
of their suffering. It is important that victims and others promote informed
and open-hearted dialogue about eating disorders so that more people can be
helped. An eating disorder is never a punishment for being a bad person, and it
is never something someone should have to keep secret. Whether it’s telling a
personal story or sharing advice on how to recognize eating disorders, please,
let’s all start talking.
Two.
It can get better. If you are reading this and struggling with an eating
disorder or if you know someone who is, know that it gets better: that with
proper treatment, support, and a healthy dose of self-love, people who have
been on the brink of death from starvation have recovered to live purposeful
and happy lives. There was a time in my life, and sometimes there still are,
when a cup of vegetables and a daily calorie goal had more control of my life
and my future than I did. But you are worth so much more than 1200 calories a
day and you are undefinable by any numerical metric. Your waist size, your pant
size, and your serving sizes can’t define you. Neither can your thigh gap, your
hip bridge, or anything you ever see in the mirror. You are a person full of goals
to achieve and love to give; someday when others reflect on the life you lived,
they will reflect on those things, not the self-control you demonstrated when
confronted with bottomless bread baskets. No matter how much you may be hurting
or struggling, things can get better. Never feel afraid to reach out or speak
up, and never feel like you’re not worth fighting for. You are. I believe you
are. I hope you can too.
Happy
eating disorder awareness week, and more than ever, thank you so
much for reading.
For
more information on eating disorders visit
I identified a lot with this post. So glad you wrote it Kristen :) <3
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