For me, my eating disorder controlled my life. I constantly counted calories and abstained from meals with the classic excuses. I had already eaten, I didn’t feel well, or other things. I was constantly lying about things that weren’t important enough to lie about, and people believed me.
When people imagine eating disorders, they imagine girls looking only skin and bone refusing to eat, or throwing up their meals. That’s not it, though. I was overweight with anorexia, and there was no way to escape or get help. When I lost weight, people just thought I was dieting. They cheered me on, and my role model was my mother.
My mother had always been worried about her weight. She would count calories and work out, and that’s all I saw. When my other female relatives lost weight, that’s what they did too. My aunt wouldn’t eat more than 10 grams of fat a day, and my mother wouldn’t eat more than 1300 calories.
Looking around in my family, all I saw was skinny attractive girls, and then there was me. I was overweight, short, and freckly, in a family of tall, thin, beautiful women. When it started, I was overweight. Hell, I’m still overweight. People encourage me to eat less than I do, and I do eat less with every passing day.
At first, my mother didn’t notice a thing. I was attending school half the day, and she didn’t see me eat the other half. Growing up I would always eat by myself, and I assume that she assumed I was doing that. It worked in my disorder’s advantage, though not in the benefit of my body. I still spend hours debating whether or not I should eat.
When my mom didn’t notice a change in things, she thought I was eating the same amount. Every time I mentioned that I should probably eat something I would hear, you don’t need to eat or you’ve eaten enough today. They had no idea how much I had actually eaten.
The day I stood in an elevator at school and looked at my hands, only to notice they had turned blue, I knew there was a problem. I was too weak to even climb the stairs without being out of breath due to my lack of food, and I was only growing weaker. I think what hurt me the most was that no one noticed.
When someone noticed my weight loss, I was applauded for my efforts. At first I told myself this was a good thing. I must be doing something right if they were telling me it was a good thing. It wasn’t like I ever went to the doctor or anything.
When winter break started for me, it only got worse. I knew I would be home from school all day, and have access to food at all hours. I thought about distracting myself or punishing myself with a razor whenever I tried to eat. It did come to that scenario, unfortunately.
I think that’s when my mother noticed there was something wrong. I knew she was beginning to suspect because she asked me what I had eaten the last day of school before winter break. I lied, told her there was a party at school where I ate ‘a bunch of bagels and donuts’, though I knew the truth.
The next day she asked the same thing. I lied again and told her I had eaten toast for breakfast. She asked again the next day and the next day. When she asked today, I told her I hadn’t eaten yet. Of course, she was furious. Tried to feed me a turkey burger. Told me all I was going to do was gain weight if I kept this up.
I kept all comments to myself. Being alive for 18 years has taught me there’s no use in responding when she’s angry. I just kept to myself before going to my room. I still haven’t eaten. I don’t know when I will next. Maybe I’ll be force fed tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe they’ll take me to the hospital.
I just don’t know at this point.