My Eating Disorder

I have an eating disorder.

It's weird, admitting it so publicly. It feels like admitting that I'm a failure. It feels like I'm letting the world know of yet another problem I have that I cannot control. I have a binge eating disorder. This means that when I'm stressed, or sad, or when I feel nothing, I find myself eating and eating until I'm sick. Taking bite after bite until my stomach hurts and I'm crying over how much I hate myself for what I can't stop doing, and even then, I take another bite. The shame that comes after is all-consuming.

It took me a few years to realize I had a problem. I would always stress eat, anytime I was under any pressure at school or home. I would sneak food into my room and hide out in there, and when the screaming began in the other room, I would eat until I felt like I couldn't eat another bite. Then I would cry myself to sleep and start the pattern over the next day. I remember in my freshman year, I had finally lost the extra 30 pounds and I was getting ready for my first day back to school. My father saw me for the first time in nearly 8 months, and told me I looked beautiful, and "if you can keep the weight off, you'll have all the boys after you."

Getting any kind of positive feedback from my father was huge for me, so I took what he said and went with it. I would not gain that weight back, he finally cared about me now, I thought. So instead of stress-eating, I only allowed myself one meal a day. It was hard, and people noticed how I avoided food, but I couldn't stop now. Then came the day that the wrong boy noticed me. I was sixteen, he was nineteen, and I would have done anything to keep his attention. He would say mean things about my body and the way I was too childish for him. He would tell me to give him access to my body, and ignore how I begged him to treat it better. To not be so rough. To listen when I said no. He would ignore me, tear me apart mentally, hurt me physically, and somehow, he turned it into my fault.

My father found out about the boy, and the eating disorder, and his rage could have lit up a whole town. He wasn't mad that I was taken advantage of, or that I was starving myself to keep his approval. He was angry because my "dramatics" had caught the attention of my grandmother. I had made him look bad. He screamed at me, made me feel small and weak, and when I dared to try to defend myself, he broke a glass side table and threw the glass all over the room. He would later tell me that he didn't throw it at me and that I was lying, but I had the cuts on my legs and feet to prove it to myself. I wasn't safe.

Skipping over some time, it was now my sophomore year, and I was living with my grandmother. I had never felt so loved and cared for. I still had nightmares of the trauma I went through, and it was incredibly hard to remind myself that I was safe. I began working in a donut shop, and started to binge-eat again. I would eat until the empty feeling inside went away. I wanted the food to make me feel whole, and to feel like I had control of myself and my body. I would eat, and cry, and eat more. In reality, I was safe and I did have control, but I was so scared still. With the help of my birth control, I gained 100 pounds.

Now, it's been 10 years since I first realized I had an eating disorder. My weight has fluctuated. I've mostly been able to control my eating disorder, however I am still 40 pounds over my goal weight. I recently started therapy again, which has lead to me thinking more and more about my past and the things I've been through. I know I am so strong and I know I can come out on top of this again, but I'm scared. I'm scared to lose control again. I'm hoping that by being open and honest about this, that it helps me hold myself accountable. I am safe. I am in control of my body. I need to fuel my body in healthy ways, and treat it the way I wish I had been treated. This fight will be lifelong, but I know I've got this.

I have an eating disorder.

But it does not define me.