Psyche logo

Eating Disorder Diaries

My struggle and my strength

By KaleighPublished 4 years ago 5 min read
1

"Okay. Today's going to be a good day. You're going to be strong. You’re not going to eat," I tell myself as I stand in front of the mirror in my underwear. I turn left. I turn right. I twist my knees in to make my thighs look farther apart. I count my ribs, wishing I could see them all outlined against my skin without having to suck in my gut. I grab my upper arm, measuring how far around my hand can clasp.

"Shit," I say under my breath. I'm going to be late for class. I had been lost in my reflection again, unable to tear my attention away from the extra fat on my tummy and the space between my thighs. Wow, I think. Even my ankles look fat today. Why aren't my fingers slenderer? I have to remember the way to stand that makes my stomach look the flattest. I practice poses in the mirror.

Finally, I sigh once, get dressed in baggy clothes to hide my figure, grab my things, and head to class.

Eventually it's three o'clock. I haven't eaten in about 20 hours and my hands are beginning to shake. When I move too fast my head starts to spin. I tell myself to just hold out until dinner time. I will let myself have something small, just to tide me over until the next evening.

Oh no, someone offered me a Twix Bar. I said no but they insisted. Were they looking at me funny or was that my imagination? Do they know? I’m being paranoid. I take the candy and I eat it. And I die a little bit inside. My day is ruined, what have I done? Okay, calm down, it’s not the end of the world. Rationally, I know this is true. But I still can’t shake this sinking feeling. It stays with me until it’s finally dinner time.

I don’t want to go anymore, but I made plans to eat with a friend. I walk into the food hall, nervous. I’m always nervous.

And I cave. I load up my plate with pasta and pizza and bread. I finish it. Every bite is a knife to my chest but I can’t stop. It’s like I’ve completely lost control over my body. I go back for seconds and clean the plate again. Then dessert. I can barely carry on the conversation with my friend at this point. I am consumed by what I am consuming and my sudden inability to stop.

I do my best to act normal until I can tear myself away from socializing and rush to my room. Then to the bathroom. I make sure I am on my guard to listen for the door as I kneel down in front of the toilet and stick my fingers down my throat. Five minutes later and my eyes are bloodshot and I have a splitting headache, but at least my stomach is empty again.

I go to bed, defeated and in pain, both physical and emotional. I do my best to console myself, reminding myself that tomorrow is a new day. “You’re going to be strong,” I tell myself for the second time today. “You’re not going to eat.”

I see girls on the internet making this kind of life sound so Hollywood, so chic. But it is not romantic. It’s traumatic. I would not wish this cycle on my worst enemy. I am wasting away a little more every day. I make my mother cry. She doesn’t know how to help me and it is killing her. Killing her is killing me. But I can’t stop, I don’t know how. It’s been seven years and I have yet to find the strength to pull myself up by my bootstraps and whip my mind into shape.

But maybe that’s not how this works. Maybe I don’t have the ability to do this on my own, and maybe that’s okay.

___

I struggle with my eating disorder every day. But, I don’t think I have to, and I don’t think I always will. I would love to tell you that this is a story from my past and I am a new woman. But this was actually today. Not every day looks like this anymore, though, which is due to one simple reason: I got help. At 20 years old, I finally opened up to a counselor at my college about the struggle that I have been living for nearly as long as I can remember. I have opened up to my parents, which is something I truly never thought would happen. I am a very lucky girl to have people as supportive as they have been. I am beginning treatment from specialists for my eating disorder and seeing a therapist to help manage my anxiety and depression. I won’t lie, it’s been hard. Dealing with these emotions and behavior patterns that have been coping mechanisms so entrenched in my brain is going against every fiber of my being. But it’s time.

I used to think that I couldn’t get better because I wasn’t strong enough to do it on my own. I thought that asking for help was losing. I thought it was weak. The more I understand about my disorder, however, the more I realize that getting help was the strongest thing I have ever done. Eating disorders are illnesses. We need professionals to keep us healthy sometimes, and mental health is no different. I am not weak, I am sick. But I will not always be. I am vulnerable and I am fragile. But I will not always be. I am strong and I am beautiful. And I beginning to realize that I will always be.

eating
1

About the Creator

Kaleigh

Just trying to figure out what I'm doing and letting you know what actually works sometimes...and what doesn't!

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.