fully recovered, will never recover fully: tales of a girl and her ed

w: graphic eating disorder, mental health issues. this is the most vulnerable thing i have ever written, so please be considerate of that

i was thirteen the day that i first decided that i hated my body. i know it didn’t happen overnight, but i wouldn’t be able to tell you when it really started. all i know is that i used to be ok, and now i’m… not.

it was less of a conscious decision and more of a culmination of a lot of different factors, and when it hit, it hit hard. knock you down and kick you every time you try to get back up again level hard.

i remember a time when i ate what i wanted, wore what i wanted, and never thought twice about how skinny someone was, but that seems as though it was very long ago. less of a memory and more of a distant dream, featuring someone who wasn’t quite me.

now, i can’t even think about food, or clothes, or scales, or mirrors without picturing myself in middle and high school, kneeling on the cold tile floor with two fingers shoved down my throat. tears run down my face, blurring my vision (though in hindsight, that may have been more from malnutrition than anything, that’s definitely a side effect) as i hoped, prayed that i could just throw up. that i could just be thinner.

i never really thought that it would get this bad. in fact, it began as a desperate grasp for control. my life was a completely unpredictable mess, but at least i had the self-discipline to be skinny. but it completely spiralled, dragging me along with it.

skipping breakfast turned into skipping lunch too, then going home and being so hungry that i’d binge and eat an entire box of cookies, and chips, and whatever else i could find. i’d sit at my dining table and eat and eat and eat, even as my stomach hurt and i felt nauseous and my throat started to close up. i couldn’t stop. but that was ok, i’d eat them all, then they wouldn’t be there anymore. they’d be gone and so would the constant noise and cravings and guilt. at least, that was what i told myself.

it became an endless cycle of starving myself in the morning, served with a side of kate moss’s “nothing tastes as good as skinny feels” and snejana onopka’s “are you sure about that?”, then binging at night. the disgust from binging would lead me to not eat the next day, etc., etc. it was an unescapable cycle.

i couldn’t win. when i didn’t eat, the only thing i was filled with was hunger. but when i did, it wasn’t food that took up the space inside of me, it was endless guilt.

it just kept getting worse. eventually, i stumbled upon the perfect solution to all of my problems: bulimia. why bother dealing with the never-ending cruelties of my good friends ana (anorexia) and bed (binge eating disorder) when i could become besties with mia (bulimia)? alas, i soon discovered that i didn’t really that strong of a gag reflex, so it resulted in nothing more than dry heaving, something that was shockingly painful yet pitifully weak. was i seriously such a failure that my gag reflex couldn’t function the way i wanted it to? give me a break.

i tried on the various types of eds the way most girls my age tried on clothes. while they were looking for the perfect fit, i was hoping for something that would knock me down a few sizes.

it was a downward spiral in the most dramatic fashion. i had never felt worse, but every pound i lost was accompanied by the most addictive high i’d ever felt. kate moss really did have a point after all. there was no stopping me now.

and yet, skinnier i was, the lower my self-esteem dropped. it was never enough, i was always too much, and i. hated. it.

eventually, my vision blacked out every time i stood up. my hair fell out. i fainted multiple times a day. most importantly, i hadn’t had my period in over five months.

my eating disorder was powerful, but it was no match for my lifelong desire for family, children, and motherhood. the thought of losing all of that just to satisfy my never-ending self-hatred was too much to bear. i could fix being a failure in every other manner through hard work and discipline, like how i “fixed” my weight but broke myself, but never being able to have a family seemed irrepairable.

i did a complete one-eighty, going from praying that God would make me skinny to praying that He would let me heal. i want a family. i want unconditional love. i need to not be utterly alone for my whole life.

slowly, i became better. i now eat three meals a day, snack regularly, have gotten back my love of cooking and baking, and no longer struggle with binging.

make no mistake, having an eating disorder was the hardest thing i’ve ever been through. and though i’m not feeling perfect, and my journey is nowhere near over, i have healed so, so, so much, and i’m so, so, so grateful for that.

physically, i was recovering, but i hated every single second of it. i went about my day hyperaware of every single pound i had gained back. everyone told me that i had done it, i was brave and kind and changed, and i was fully recovered, but no matter how hard i tried, i couldn’t erase the thoughts.

i’ll never be able to forget how many calories are in something, how many calories i can burn in thirty minutes (about 300), what to put in my pockets so that my doctor doesn’t get worried at my annual physical (rocks). i’ll never forget the exact thing to say to reassure people that i was doing ok, the excuses that work, and how much weight i can lose in a month if i really try.

eating disorders are a type of mental health issue that manifests itself in physical ways. from not eating, to throwing up, to losing weight, these are actions that are physically taken or results that are physically shown. in the discourse surrounding recovery, the focus is predominantly on the physical aspects.

but what people don’t understand is that these physical components are just the result; the cause is completely mental. they tell you to stop the effects without even beginning to think about the actual causes. telling someone that they’re beautiful just the way they are is like slapping a bandaid over an infected wound. it’ll staunch the blood flow, but it’s still infected.

if someone eats enough every day, they may not be anorexic anymore, but as long as they are still hit with guilt every bite, they aren’t recovered. if someone doesn’t binge, isn’t eating share-sized bags of chips in one sitting, wishing they could just stop, they aren’t bed anymore, but if they can’t block out the food noise, the cravings, they aren’t recovered. if someone isn’t excusing themselves to the bathroom after every meal, they might not be bulimic anymore, but as long as they’re still wishing they could shove their fingers down their throat, they aren’t recovered.

i look better, and feel better, but every meal, like clockwork, i can feel the thoughts, the disgust, the cravings coming back. i am not recovered.

and honestly, i really don’t know if i ever will be.

and i wonder: in a society where girls are worth more the less they weigh, mocked for their hunger, yet scorned for eating, praised for so-called discipline, and hated when it becomes a noticeable problem - one that draws attention to how messed up the way we’re treated really is - can anyone really recover? i don’t think so.

this is a very delicate yet impactful and real issue that affects so many people. i have done my best to spread awareness about it through my own experiences and ideas, but these will differ person to person. please take care of yourselves. society is evil, but we don’t have to give in to it. be brave. be strong. be beautiful.

“Eat whatever you want, and if anyone tries to lecture you about your weight, eat them too” - Vlada Roslyakova