Try.. and try Again
Life has always been to me about the expectations. It was always about what I was going to be, what I hadn’t achieved yet, who I was going to make proud, or what size I was going to get down to.
I never lived in the present. The present was like this scary space full of emotions, that I wasn’t ready to deal with, and all I wanted to feel was numb. I couldn’t handle being alone, with nothing to do, and with everything to think about that I had dreaded for so long. So, I ate and ate and ate. Until I felt that the void had been filled and my body was "full" and then I raced to the toilet. I prayed that I could make my body feel the same kind of pain that was eating me up inside. Sometimes, I purged and thought about someone finding out or just someone seeing me!
But, my mother and friends loved me so much that they wanted to believe I was okay and I didn’t want my image to deteriorate into someone with "problems." So, I continued to hide behind the food and mask the feelings. I even thought about flushing the problems down, like my parents’ divorce would actually disappear if I could just "get everything out."
I’d liked to say, someone reached out and showed me the light. I’d like to say, I saw that I was hurting myself and that I realized being "perfect" was a way to mask my feelings of insecurity and being out of control, but that didn’t happen. Instead I slipped into my eating disorder even further.
Eventually, I didn’t feel enough pain to go numb, so I started drinking. I drank and realized I got the same numb feeling as purging, except with drinking, I also got the attention I was seeking, but unfortunately it was from drunken guys.
I watched myself, like some cruel lifetime movie, about a girl’s hardship in adolescence. And then I woke up.
By this point, I had let myself fall into the pit of despair, submission, and sexual abuse, by someone I trusted. My best friend. So, I closed my eyes and walked blinded away, into the darkness and found a unnerving close friend, ecstasy.
And life went on. I watched two years of high school go by, and I watched my pay checks be eaten, almost literally.
To most peoples’ ignorance, my grades stayed above a 3.75, and I still played sports competitively and rode my horse. Yet, inside I was crying every day. At night I ate "beans" and waited for the feelings of a false "self-love" to kick in. I waited to feel beautiful and dreaded the sun because the pill was gone, the new intimate friends had gone home and I again was left alone with the naked, real me. The me that secretly puked away my food. The me that hated myself. I felt the anger and rage and hatred dissolving every part of my personality. I didn’t know who I was anymore.
So, like every hopeful swimming in a pool of pain, I thought I’d move away from it all. I moved from Florida to Wisconsin with my father and little brother and started class at a close-minded small Midwestern school. I walked the halls in a daze, not knowing anyone or even myself. I reclused into my space of self-loathing and eventually began to cry in classes. Student’s looked at me like I had some sort of mental illness. And then a sweet caring girl asked if I was okay. She actually looked at me, into my eyes and hugged me. She introduced me to my English teacher, an understanding older man and about three months later after he had been asked every day how I was doing (yes, sometimes that one little question is all a person needs to feel like someone is there for them) I asked for help. He immediately hooked me up with a great counselor and I "recovered." (I was 17 and a half and this had been going on for four years.) Then I moved back to Florida and began college. I met a boy and we moved in together
I found out his mother had been 95 percent clogged and had she not gone for a check up she would have died. I became so scared, and realized I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to abuse myself anymore. I didn’t want to feel alienated from my peers and hide in the corners of my apartment. I wanted to be healthy. I had gone from bulimia to an out of control over eating obsession. Hiding behind that eating was "good." All the while, I was still masking the pain of my youth that I hadn’t wanted to deal with, the insecurity, feeling of abandonment, inferiority to my little brother, feelings of failure, rape and self-hatred. So, I went to my school office and began counseling-again.
The reason I am saying this is because sometimes things don’t work out the way you want. Expectations can be a huge disaster and eating disorder recovery is hard, but there is a road to recovery, even if it takes more than one try. You have to want to learn to live again and want to learn to love yourself. So please fight for yourself or at least reach out to the ones that love you.
P.S. For all of you that are our loved ones and friends, please reach out to us, because sometimes we aren’t strong enough to ask for help.
Thank you for reading my story