Went a full 24 hours :)

I crawled into my soft, warm bed feeling very accomplished. I was elated to be able to say that. I had made it through the day.
Nothing? Emily texted back.

Nothing at all.

I had gone a full twenty-four hours, an entire day, without eating. I was ecstatic, I felt so strong and powerful. A day? Who says I couldn’t go for two? Three? I fell asleep that night with a sense of accomplishment.

Emily and I both suffered from eating disorders. We let each other know when we ate, what we ate, how many calories were in what we ate, how we felt about what we ate. Was it the only thing that we ate that day? We’re we binging? Would we be puking afterwards? We would complain to each other about family dinners, and brag to each other about our latest accomplishments. Our warped views on food kept us close for a long time.

There was one difference between the two of us. Emily’s disorder was public knowledge and mine was not. All the people that cared about Emily always had a watchful eye out. Her disorder had been going on for a lot longer than mine. I was scared for her, but not scared for myself. I felt like I was in much more control than she was. I wanted to help her get better. I gave her advice, great advice because I personally knew exactly what she was going through. The problem was that I didn’t take any of my own great ideas, I just continued on with no one but Emily knowing.

The odd food rituals I had became common place. I would eat a little in the morning to get my metabolism going; then wouldn’t eat anything until I got home from school. When I was home alone, I would load up on everything we had in our house. The saltiness of chips, the sweetness of pancakes, the carb load of pasta and the spiciness of chips and salsa; I would pack as much as I possibly could into my system, craving everything I had denied myself. I would chug what seemed like gallons of water along with it. Then sprint to the bathroom to watch it all come up again.

This cycle went on for a few months. I always wanted more: To weigh less and less. It was an unbeatable mental montage of me telling myself to have more by having less. Then Emily took a turn for the worse. Everyone wanted to call an intervention, to talk to her parents, to make her realize she needed to get better. I wanted better for Emily than I had for myself, I worried for her along with everyone else. Not a soul knew that I was in the same boat as her. I worked very hard to keep everyone in the dark, I didn’t want people to worry about me, I had everything under control. Sometimes though I liked to test the security of the lie I told everyone, just to make sure.
“I’m really hungry.” I would say to a friend.

“Did you eat lunch?”

“No. I’m trying to loose five pounds before summer.”

“Oh! Me too! I’ve been doing lots of abs and eating less junk.” They had no idea.

Time went on. The earth was finally warming up and spring was on its way. The waves of my eating disorder had been going on for five or six months. As finals and summer were quickly approaching, a tidal wave was crashing over me. Emily was steadily getting better, and I was lying to her about how bad things had gotten for me. She thought we were on the path to recovery together, but we really weren’t. I wanted her to get better, so I lead her to believe that I was getting better too. I wasn’t ready to take the leap to get better though. I was so certain I had everything under control, I felt untouchable.

I was cuddled up under my big comforter, the light of my phone illuminating my face. This had become another ritual: The daily calorie count.

5/27
•
Grapefruit-70
•
Cheese stick-80
•
Salad- 240
•
Veggie pattie-130
•
Microwave burrito- 310
•
TOTAL: 830

A good day. I thought to myself, turning my phone off and shimming under my covers. In the dark I ran my fingers over the prickly scratches on my hip bone. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 I counted, feeling the thin raised lines. I had done this to myself. On the bad days, when I would eat too much I would make a little tally mark, reminding myself not to do that again.

The turmoil of my early teenage years did not contribute to me getting along with my parents. They were kept in the dark about my eating disorder and most other things in my life. Even though my parents divorced when I was young and disagree on just about everything they still became a united front on discipline. I had become really tired all the time, probably from lack of energy intake. I was sleeping on the couch when I heard both my parents’ voices. Both parents. I knew even before I got out of my comatose state that something was very wrong if both parents were here.

“We need to talk.” My mom said. Oh s***, I thought.

“Your farther and I are worried about some of the choices you have been making lately…” My mom started in. They were worried about school, and overworking myself, the people who had become my friends, boys, sex, drugs; every stereotypical teenage thing, they assumed I was doing. They were going to restrict my freedoms regardless of what I said. No phone, internet, or friends. They didn’t know about my eating disorder, I still had that secret.

The morning after the lecture the reality of my situation set in. It could have been the melodrama of my age, or how exhausted I was, but everything that had happened seemed to be intensified. I came into school an emotional wreck. I wanted someone to talk to, but no one knew what was happening. I had one person, my friend Hanna who I had known since I was five; I knew she would be there to listen to me.
“Honey, what’s wrong?” Hannah asked. Worry splashed over her face. I can only imagine what I looked like with my pale complexion and my tear-rimmed, dark circled eyes. In the middle of the hallway, I collapsed into her arms. Tears came out and choking sobs along with it. It was really quite unattractive. I wanted to tell her everything that had been happening over the last six months. I didn’t. The bell rang and we had to go to class. The thought to tell Hannah stayed with me, percolating at the back of my mind for the rest of the day
I thought and debated on telling Hanna. I had been trying to get better on my own, to suppress the feelings I had, to become normal again. I had been doing okay, until one evening I puked for the first time in two weeks. I decided I needed to tell Hannah. I knew that if I told even just one person everything, that it would make me want to get better.

Dear Hannah,
I have something I want to tell you. Read this when you have time to read the whole thing because it’s going to be quite long. I’m sorry to unload all of what I am about to say on you, but I want someone to know…

I hit send. All my emotions written down blipped across the internet. My screen read “Sent: 10:37” I had butterflies in my stomach for hours until she responded. I was so scared of what she was going to say to me. It took a lot of strength to tell her and commit myself to being healthier.

Hannah was shocked. She had no idea what I had been going through and she fully committed herself to supporting me. After I told Hanna I never made myself throw-up again. It took me a while to completely get rid of my negative body images, but I ultimately succeeded. With me knowing there was someone to talk to, someone who would support me through everything, I have had the strength to stay happy and healthy.