E.B.

My senior year of high school I developed an eating disorder. I'm sure many have read my post on instagram regarding this, however that post paints my struggle in a positive light and expresses the strength I gained from it. 

This is the raw, painful truth. 

What started as “eating healthy” for a New Year’s resolution and going on a “28 day reset” turned into an obsession with the scale and how low I could get my calorie count for the day. Towards the end of my senior year, I was surviving purely off half a cup of oatmeal while being captain of my school’s Varsity track and field team, working out for two hours a day, 5 or 6 days a week. The weight flew off quickly, and I lost nearly ¼ of my body weight in as little as two months. After the first 5 pounds, I was extremely happy. I felt confident, beautiful even, and my self esteem was the highest it had ever been. Towards the end, I spiralled into a deep depression and each day was a struggle for me to get out of bed and just brush my teeth. My eating disorder constantly told me “just get to __ weight, and you’ll finally be happy” but it was never enough. The more weight I lost, the more my self hatred grew. It became obvious to all of my classmates as well as teachers that I was struggling.

Anorexia Nervosa came with a list of horrible side effects. I will never forget how cold I was, or clumps of my beautiful long hair falling out. My grades slipped quite a bit because I didn’t have the energy to store and process new information, let alone sit down and focus on homework or study for exams. I went from being one of the best athletes in the region to barely being able to complete the warm ups and drills because of lack of energy and developing chest pain However, by far the worst thing that the eating disorder and depression caused was for me to isolate myself, and I lost the close connection I had with many friends. It made me push away my boyfriend at the time, and I wouldn’t even let him hold me for those two months due to my hatred that I developed for my body and myself. 

In June, two of my best friends reached out to me and asked if I was okay. I broke down and told them everything. After telling my parents, I saw a doctor who told me I needed to be hospitalized immediately. I was 18 at the time: out of my parent’s control when it came to medical law. So I declined. I was sent to a cardiologist who monitored me biweekly. Wearing the heaviest clothing I had so I would weigh more and drinking energy drinks before my appointments to increase my heart rate, I was able to trick her for only two short months before my tactics fell through when I was sent to get a second EKG done on my heart. The result was a delayed electrical current, which meant my heart wasn’t beating correctly. This is a precursor to a heart attack. I was hospitalized on August 11, 2017 and my boyfriend and I broke up that morning. My parents had me medically defer from Cal Poly SLO fall quarter my freshman year. As you can imagine, I felt incredibly alone.

In the hospital, I was not allowed to shower on my own. I was not allowed to walk at all and a nurse had to be present if I wanted to get out of bed. I was wheel chaired down the hall to the meal room for meals. I was woken up at 5am every morning to get weighed and blood drawn. At night, if a patient’s heart rate dips under 35 beats per minute, a nurse has to wake the patient up and give them Boost to drink, which is meant to speed up the heart rate. Boost is a high nutrient and calorie drink. I was woken up three times per night every single night for the first two weeks of my stay by a nurse with strawberry Boost in their hand.

The hospital wasn’t all bad, in fact I met an amazing person in there. We ate lunch together, sharing stories of how we got to where we were, the things we liked, and what life was like before this disease took us full force. We were allowed to walk 3 laps around the hospital floor every night, and he and I would always walk together. He was so charming and funny, and one night while walking I had my first genuine belly laugh in almost a year, thanks to him. He played guitar for me in the afternoons. I was released a couple of days before him, but we exchanged contact information to keep in touch. Having lost so many friends, it was reassuring to know I was still capable of genuine human connection. Ethan, my dear friend, is in New York now studying film. We don’t keep in close contact anymore, however, I’ll never forget him. He was my light during one of the darkest periods of my life. and I like to think that I was his as well. 

I am still recovering and my body image is something I truly struggle with everyday, but every day it gets a little easier. It affects what I wear. It affects my romantic relationships. It affects if I will choose to be social and see friends that day or not. Recovery isn’t linear and some days are harder than others, but one things keep me from going back to the eating disorder: reminding myself of how many people I hurt with this illness. I hurt my friends by removing myself from nearly all social situations and going silent. I hurt my boyfriend at the time by pushing him away and making excuses of why I couldn’t go out to dinner or why we couldn’t get ice cream to celebrate a full year of us being together. I hurt my sisters as they watched me shrivel into a shell of a human. My twin, Ray, told me she was afraid to hug me because she thought she would break me. I hurt my mom because she took the blame upon herself. I hurt my dad, and I think it may have hit him the hardest. I will never forget sitting down with him, tears in his eyes, as he yelled at me for the danger I had put myself in, and that my heart is what is keeping me alive, and here I am ruining it. The eating disorder didn’t just hurt me, but it hurt everyone around me, and I will never allow myself to go back to my old ways and hurt the people I love the most.