Recently, a post on “ND Confessions” from an anonymous confessor wrote: “I don’t have an eating disorder, but sometimes I wish I were anorexic or bulimic just so I could be thin.” I want to address this seemingly careless statement.
Over the past six years, I’ve spoken to hundreds of people – people with eating disorders, people without eating disorders, family members and friends of those with eating disorders, students, teachers, friends and peers. Interestingly, I find speaking to my peers and those whom I know is infinitely more difficult than speaking to a room full of several hundred strangers. Eating disorders are extremely complex, personal, and difficult to understand let alone treat. The message of eating disorder awareness is increasingly significant as the numbers of individuals who are diagnosed with Anorexia Nervosa and Bulimia Nervosa increase each year. I share my story not to evoke sympathy but to increase awareness of the severity and commonness of eating disorders. I speak of the damaging and lasting effects the struggle can have on a person, a family, and those who know and love the individual. I have found my strength to speak out over the years because of the support of my family and my friends. Once shrouded in shame, I stand stronger than ever today. I know that because I have overcome Anorexia Nervosa, I can overcome any challenge that life may give to me.
In Seventh grade, I entered an ultra-competitive all-girls, Catholic 7-12 high school. The pressure placed upon me to get straight A’s, make friends with the girls in my class, maintain friendships with the girls in my previous school, and be my parents’ perfect, only child was immense. By Eighth grade, I began to restrict my food intake as a desperate attempt to control some aspect of my otherwise very calculated life. I was not aware of the dangerous path down which I was headed. Within a few months, my life was out of control. To this day I can vividly remember days when I knew exactly how many calories were in a squirt of toothpaste and subsequently added them into my mental food diary. I remember being able to tell anyone who asked what I had eaten for breakfast, lunch, and dinner that day, the day before, the day before that, and the day before that. Food (or the lack thereof) was my life. Not a minute passed in which I didn’t think about what I would or would not allow myself to eat that day, the next day, or the day after. It was an endless cycle. I went to bed hungry every night, so cold that three bedspreads wouldn’t keep me warm. Every meal was a fight with my parents; every night was a fight with myself. I would hate myself for every bite I took that day. I wanted to be as thin as God would let me be, and too thin was never a possibility. My skin was a dull, pale, sullen white, and my hair began to thin and fall out. My eyes were sunken and glazed and sad. My heart was hurting too, and my organs were starting to slow. I didn’t realize how sick I was until I was lying in a hospital bed with a meager heart rate of 31 beats per minute, and my mom was on her knees praying that I wouldn’t die if I fell asleep.
I went inpatient at the Medical Center at Princeton in New Jersey. I spent several months being forced to eat, gain weight, and confront my eating disorder. I saw many patients come and go from the Eating Disorder Unit, and I remember thinking of each and every one of them that he or she was “so much sicker than I was.” I was fine compared to them. The reality however was quite the opposite. My mind as well as my body were very sick, and it took me a very long time to recognize and accept that.
After months of inpatient and outpatient treatment and many more months of therapy, I began to realize how alone my eating disorder made me feel, how manipulative it was, how greatly it had changed me, and how loud its voice still was. I began to make lists and lists of all the things I had missed out on because of my eating disorder. I had missed birthdays, holidays, Baptisms, parties, class trips, vacations, summer camps, and school because of my eating disorder. I began making more lists of things I wanted to do, but likely would not be able to do, if I did not find the strength to get better. My list of Ninth grade dreams included becoming a lifeguard at my local pool and working in the summer. I wanted to go with three of my friends to a weeklong Nike-sponsored tennis camp. I wanted to go with my Church group to Kentucky for a week in the summer to build houses and help the poor of the Appalachian mountains. I wanted to be able to tell my friends everything. I wanted to think about great things – not about the calories in every bite of food. I wanted to be free from those chains. I wanted to regain control of my life.
Slowly, but surely, I did just that. It took for me to realize all the things I had given up and would have to give up for my eating disorder before I could decide that I was strong enough to free myself from its grasp. Months of therapy helped me realize why I had developed an eating disorder and how I could better cope with the fears and anxiety that made me want to go back to my disordered ways of acting and thinking.
It has been six years since I fought my eating disorder. I will be the first to admit that my disordered ways of thinking pop into my head occasionally, in not-so-obvious, sneaky ways when I get stressed or nervous, but I know how to recognize and combat such thoughts. Six years ago, I never would have thought that I would say this, but I am so, truly and thoroughly happy with my life. I no longer see my struggle as a weakness but as an opportunity to find strength, develop courage, and seek the support that I need in order to maintain a happy, healthy life. I will forever place health and fitness as top priorities in my life, because I know how terrible life without health and without the strength to stay fit can be. I encourage others to find freedom in healthy, active lifestyles, and I offer hope and an example of what recovery, health, and freedom looks like to those who are struggling with eating disorders.
If I had had the knowledge of the dangers and addiction associated with eating disorders when I was in Eighth grade, perhaps I never would have had to battle my disorder. I will have to be weary of disordered thinking and cognizant of my food choices for the rest of my life. I have accepted that relapse is a reality not a weakness, and that my strength lies in my ability to rise from moments of weakness. I refuse to give up my life and my happiness. Eating disorders are forms of addiction, and I would not wish one on my worst enemy.
For those who are struggling, I ask you to believe that you too can win your battle and set yourselves free to live the lives you were meant to and deserve to live. For those of you who are not struggling, I thank you anyway for reading this article. Your knowledge and awareness of the subject can help many more people than you will ever know. Remember than an eating disorder is a disease, not a choice. Offer support and understanding when and where you can. Be kind to yourselves and others; everybody is fighting some kind of battle.