It was now or never in the white room full of beeping machines surrounding me. The doctor had just told me that I was dying. My heart sunk to the ground as hard as an anchor. The ghostlike faces in the room were my parents, as they sat there more lost than ever. I now knew I had to fight not only for my life, but with myself. Remembering the sting of the tube down my throat and IV in my arm, I reluctantly moved closer to the plate. This plate full of food staring at me was now my medicine. It took every muscle in my body to pick up the forkful of peas.
The gravitational pull of my fingers clinging to the fork was unbearable, as though my body was screaming for me to put it down. It has been months since I have been this close to a plate, nor picked up a fork. I closed my eyes as the tears came streaming down my cheeks and opened my quivering mouth. I moved my shaky hand towards my mouth and poured the peas over my tongue. As I swallowed, I felt every pea go down like they were slitting my throat. This was putting poison in my body, as I felt the guilt clawing at me leaving invisible scars of fear and anger behind.
I quickly threw my fork down and adjusted the feeding tube on my face. Looking into the bathroom mirror in the hospital, I see the older version of the little girl I use to be. Going back, I was the little girl with the brightest smile and biggest laugh that always seemed not have a care in the world, but really was actually anything but alright. I see the same hazel eyes that still seem to tell stories with the bat of my eyelashes, that girl with the short blonde curly hair that’s now long and straight, but still moves with every beat of my feet moving.
And, oh, the little girl’s smile. Her smile was bright and looked as though she always had a reason to be happy. You wouldn’t think anything was wrong, but something about her just wouldn’t let herself put her mask down. Her mask of avoidance as she called it, avoiding the reality of what she felt and has heard in her life at such a young age. No one noticed anything, for she had become the queen of avoidance. I once was this little girl, yet | still feel trapped in her horrid memories. That little smile has now disappeared as she has turned into the older version of me.
Smiling no more now that the mask has come down. :Little no more, her secrets are now revealed. As I sit in the hospital room crowded by my fears as memories flood in along with stabbing words. Standing in the corner of the hallway in third grade as I heard them whisper about me. They would call me words that would break any little girl down. At this day these words still repeat in my head over and over; “fat, fat, fat,”, “Worthless, worthless, worthless”, and “idiot, idiot, idiot,” they said. These painful words now sound like constant chants in my head, rambling on repeat.
I was the little girl now who felt like my body was an overweight whale, as I walked along with my avoidance mask. As the years went by I could no longer hide how hateful I was of myself. Going home day after day wondering, “why? ” Wondering how someone could look so happy with themselves, yet be in so much dreadful pain over her own body. Looking around as I ate I felt like I heard snickering voices making fun of me. In reality it was only my own self making fun of me. Dieting and constant worry became like a constant alarm going off in my head.
The older I got you would’ve thought the pain of these words would go away, but it was too late they already were engraved in my brain. These words were still like needles stabbing away at me, making me realized how broken I felt. Those kids no longer were my biggest bully… I was. Standing in the mirror as the hot tears came running down, as my hands started pinching and pulling at what I called, “fat” and “disgusting. ” I wanted to scream and punch the mirror in hopes it would shatter into the person 1 wanted to be.
I knew I couldn’t change who I was, but that didn’t top me from trying. The thoughts of being skinny and perfect got more intense and frequent. Now I had taken a dive for the worst, as I had just skipped my first meal in just seventh grade. This became my “normal”, as I ate less and less. Pushing my body harder and harder to be my vision. I had no idea what | was doing was so harmful, but the weight just went down more and more along with my health. Soon, the calories became less and exercise became more. If I would down the intake I would up my exercise. The number on the scale every morning had now become my control over what I couldn’t.
Thad pressured myself into being perfect in everything including, school, sister, friend, ect. The more stress I put on myself; the sicker I got. Not long after this became the norm of my daily life. My family and friends got scared as I turned into a ghost. I was near to non-existing as my bones protruded, hair slowly fell out, body purple from being cold and bruises covering my body. I was a zombie walking trying to complete my daily tasks, but my idea of perfection starting failing as the grades dropped, family started breaking down and I started passing out. I was forced into treatment after treatment.
Fighting to just get back to my “normal”, so I would what I liked to call it, “fake it through, till I get back home. ” This soon failed as I was rushed to that white room attached to machines and internally screaming. Not just my family, but I too now had felt hopeless. Anorexia has taken me over giving me nothing not even that control or perfection it had promised me so long ago. The fork clattered onto the tray as the faces lit up in the room and I came back from the memories. At this moment I had taken my first punch to anorexia, as the doctors had hoped a whole boxing match to come.
I knew I needed to get better, but I had two voices screaming at me tearing and scratching at my body. Which was to follow? The thing that got me here, or the voice telling me to keep fighting? The fighting voice told me to keep on sending punches and taking steps forward even if that had meant crawling and clinging to the ground to move forward. The anxiety, depression, perfection and anorexia voice told me everything otherwise. Whispering those chants to me, “fat, fat, fat, worthless, worthless, worthless, idiot, idiot, idiot.
It was a day to day battle to get just healthy enough to get sent to Mayo Clinic, but all I knew in that moment was both sides wanted to get the hell out of this room. I took a few punches, threw a few and dodged a few, but I had gotten permission to go to Mayo. Mayo Clinic truly did change my mind about who I wanted to be. I was limited my contact to friends and family, while I worked on getting healthy and forming a relationship again with food. Many days did end up in tears and hateful words, others ended with laughs and smiles.
It was here where I realized the good of recovery instead of just thinking about the negatives of recovery. Recovery for me was about first learning to love myself, which I liked to call, “fly” (First Love Yourself). I am still working on this part, along with regaining my life back, but I am slowly taking strides. I refuse to sugarcoat what I went through. There honestly is no way to really put this part of my story, other than a piece in progress. This piece of progress now though is my history and my life as I learn and grow just as any other teen would.
