Keeping Out the Cold
By Ashley Bennett

It’s cold. Not outside, but something within me is cold. I try to bury the cold with big sweatshirts, or long pants, but that is not the only thing they are good for. When I am in those big sweatshirts, people can’t see me. They can’t see my stomach, or my arms, or any other part of me that makes me feel self conscious.
But this did not start out of nowhere. There has always been this uncomfortable level I have had about myself, but there is always a trigger, something that sets me off and drives me to restrict myself. My trigger this time was when my friend was throwing an anti-prom pool party. I realized that people would have to see me in a swimming suit, something I had never been comfortable with. This time, it was not just my body I was self conscious about.
This time was different. I had scars on my stomach. Three of them to be exact. I hated the way they looked. I had a stomach that was now not only not flat, but also all cut up. The scar on my left side was small and purple; it reminded me of a stretch mark, which made me even more self conscious. What if people did not know that it was a scar? Then, in the middle, was a slit down my belly button. Lovely, right? This horrible cut right through me. Lastly though, the prettiest of all, was an inch and a half incision on the right side of my stomach. It was purple and every time I saw it I cringed.
So my friend and I agreed to diet and exercise together to get in shape for this party, and that is where everything started.
The couple days were easy too. I had normal meals, or at least what I thought was normal, because my idea of eating normal has been torn apart into something that I will never know how to fix. But they were smaller portions, and healthier food.
Egg whites with a piece of toast.
Carrots.
Peanut butter and jelly with goldfish and an apple.
Banana.
Salmon with Broccoli.
And plenty of water.
Then I started doing my research. I googled ways to lose weight and worked out for hours after school. I stopped doing homework because there was no time for that while at the gym. It was not only then, though. I could not do homework even at a dull moment because my mind was on food. What I would eat the next day, or how I could avoid it. There was no way I was eating something that I had not planned out because that meant I did not have control over it.
There was no way for me to get away from these thoughts, but if I am being totally honest, I loved them. I loved being in control. I think that is where the restricting came in. I loved the fact that I could control what I gave my body and I loved the way my body responded. I knew I was doing a good job at keeping my calories low when I would stand up, and the room would spin a bit, and my vision would go dark for a few seconds. I loved the way my body changed; my boobs got smaller, my stomach got smaller, and my arms became more toned. I loved it. I became addicted to changing myself and being in total control.
We were always taught in health that starving yourself actually caused you to gain weight because it put your body in starvation mode, the need for food would break down your muscle mass for nutrients, but that simply was not the case for me. I told myself I was beating the system because with all the working out I was doing my muscles were getting stronger. So I continued on my way.
The only thing I did not see changing was my thighs. They were taking twice as long to make smaller than any other part of my body, so that became my focus. Wall sit after lunge after any exercise that would help my legs get smaller, became my number one priority when working out. I went from an intake of 800 calories a day, to 500.
“This will help,” I told myself, “Don’t eat that. Stay strong.”
Those words became my anthem, “Stay strong, stay strong, stay strong.”
I played them over and over in the back of my head. Everywhere I went, that was rolling through my mind. The only time I would not hear those words are when I was eating. Although I felt that it was not a good idea for me to be consuming calories at all, I knew I needed them to keep me from passing out completely.
Granola bar.
Carrots.
Celery with carrots.
Cheese stick.
Black beans.
These all would equal under 500 calories, and I made sure of that. If they went just one over, I would give myself a panic attack. I would fast the next day because I did not deserve the food that would even keep me conscious. Even though only 500 calories was much less than normal for an adult to consume, I forced myself to be negative in calorie consumption by the time I was done working out. If I was not negative by at least 1,000 calories, I had to keep going.
Soon my friends noticed the weird patterns in which I ate, the way I would make sure at lunch I would eat one carrot slice, then one celery slice, and repeat. They noticed the way that I started to become more irritable, the way that I would not eat with them when we went out to restaurants like I typically had in the past. I should have come up with more excuses than, “I ate at home.” Because they know I never did. They noticed that when I did not have my water bottle, to soothe myself when I felt like eating, I would freak out.
“Ashley, do you know what you’re doing to yourself?” Sarah asked, “Not eating can cause diabetes. I know how much you hate needles, think about using one every day. What about your metabolism? You know you are slowing that down too. If you continue this you will mess it up for good. When you start to eat a good amount again, you will gain a ton of weight.”
She tried every approach in the book to get me to eat, but I did not care. She did not know anything about the struggle I was going through. There were plenty of people who have the same thing I do and are perfectly fine.
Did you know there are a million twitter accounts that are people with eating disorders? They talk of fasting, and how good they are doing. They encourage you, and you encourage them. It is like a little network of support. Every time I felt like eating something that was above my usual input for meals, I read through the twitter feeds of everyone else struggling through the same thing. It gave me the strength I needed to keep dieting.
By the time anti-prom came around, I had lost nearly fifteen pounds, but that was not nearly enough for me. I refused to get in a bathing suit, and it turned outl well considering it was too cold to swim. The whole time I could not stop thinking about what a waste of time it was to be there instead of working out. With all these people eating marshmallows covered in chocolate and smashed between graham crackers. Didn’t they know how many calories were in that tiny little treat they all consumed multiple of? This was not acceptable for me to see, or be around. It was not okay for them to be doing and I just kept repeating my anthem in my head.
About three weeks after the party my friends and I decided on a trip to South Carolina to celebrate the end of the year. We were going to be seniors, what could be better than that? This trip was to kick off what would be the best summer of our lives. Little did I know it would also change the way I ate.
My friends going on the trip all seemed to think they knew what was going on with me, but what they did not know is that they do not know how to treat someone with a problem like mine.
We stopped at a McDonalds on the way down there, I had restrained from eating much that whole day because I knew I would need something to keep my energy up as I drove. I got whatever had the least amount of calories there, and began to eat. My stomach was killing me though, I had not eaten anything fast food for a long time now, never the less any bread. They did not think anything of it since I was able to put down the food I had gotten that night.
The next day when we arrived though, a problem arose. We went grocery shopping, and I went for my usual diet of very little fruit, some black beans, and tons of vegetables, but no one wanted that. Everyone wanted the cheaper foods such as hotdogs and chips. It made sense because it saved them money, but I was scared to even look at the calorie count which I compulsively checked before eating anything. I was able to get string cheese out of them though, low calorie.
“Ashley, I know this is hard for you, but next year is our senior year. Think of all the other girls in our grade who have had to deal with that. Do you really want to be in the hospital during our senior BBQ, or missing out on prom because you are in a rehabilitation facility?” My friend asked me.
I thought a lot about this statement. Out of everything anyone ever said to me about my problem, this stuck with me, but I did not care. To me it was worse to be at the senior BBQ looking like I did, then to not be able to go.
I knew I was scaring them though, and it was something I didn’t mean to happen. During this trip I began to eat again. On paper it seems like such an easy transition, but the truth is, it was one of the hardest things in my life. It took everything in me to put down even half of a hotdog. Even though I was eating, I was still restricting.
By the end of the summer I was eating normally again, but there is always this voice in the back of your head that tells you that you are disgusting. You have no right to be eating what you are. My problem being so recent, there was another trigger.
Admitting it here, on this paper, makes me feel ashamed. It makes me feel stupid, but the truth is, it was a boy. The same boy that liked to make me feel like nothing the year before, appeared again in my life. He did not stay for long though, just long enough to put me down and make me feel bad about myself.
I knew that my friends would notice me not eating. And even though I always told myself I would never make myself throw up, I did it. It made me feel better, more in control again. I wanted to prove him wrong. I was not worthless, I would be beautiful.
This went on for a while. A horrible cycle of eating a meal, then feeling bad about it. The headaches from throwing up were much worse than just not eating at all, but I made it my routine to turn on the water faucet, stick my finger down my throat, and pop an advil.
It is so shameful to put this on paper. To admit to anyone that this problem took me over, and to be honest I do not know what broke the cycle, but I am grateful it did. Although it is a day by day challenge, and there are certain things I cannot do such as eating around people I do not know well, I like myself a little more now, and I am okay having a meal with some friends.