S.D.

Growing up, I was blessed with a fairly easy life. Surrounded by a loving and supportive Christian family, I had lots of friends, did well in school, and excelled in competitive soccer. My mental health was great, and I was relatively happy most of my life. However, that all took a turn at the end of high school. During my junior year, I decided to give up sweets for lent. I thought this would help me lose a few pounds and be quicker on the soccer field. I lost the weight I wanted to within a few months, but I couldn’t stop; seeing the numbers on the scale drop week after week began to give me a high. Within a year, the healthy 145-pound athlete I had once been withered away into a 110-pound skeleton. I didn’t believe it at the time, but I was anorexic. My family and doctor encouraged me to start eating more, but I didn’t want to consume more than the strict 1,200 calorie-diet/day I set for myself, even as I continued to play soccer. I kept eating this way until I became constantly cold, tired, and light headed. I then knew I needed to gain a few pounds back, so I began eating fattier, carb-filled food before I went to bed. I figured this would provide me with the calories I was lacking without making me feel “bloated” all day. I continued eating like this throughout my senior year, depriving myself during the day and stuffing my face at night. At first, it didn’t seem to be a problem, but had gotten to the point where I was eating thousands of calories before bed. I knew my behavior was unhealthy, but that didn’t stop me. I couldn’t be stopped by anyone or myself. My anorexia had led me into a destructive binge eating disorder.

I came into Cal Poly at the worst of my eating disorder. My first year was a struggle, as I spent most days lying in bed, stuffing myself with food to the point of near-sickness. I would get invited to hang out with friends, but make up excuses for why I couldn’t go so I could continue to lay in bed in misery. This routine took a toll on my social life, academics, body confidence, and mental health, ultimately leading me into depression. I started seeing an eating disorder specialist, though it didn’t seem to help me much. Many times, I thought of leaving Cal Poly, but somehow made it through the year without completely breaking down. After doing a little bit better over the summer, I felt confident returning to college for my second year. However, once the stress of school started picking up, the binge eating and depression returned in full force. It got to the point where I couldn’t focus on any schoolwork because my urges to binge were so strong. The only thing that would silence my urges was food, so I ate until my brain was free from the anxious and intrusive thoughts. Every time, this left me feeling sick, empty, and hopeless. You’d think I’d quit binging because of the pain it was causing me, but binging was the only way to stop the overwhelming urges. I didn’t want my urges to control me, but they did. Every single time.

 After a month into fall quarter, I decided to go home on medical leave. I figured removing myself from the stress and commitment of school would allow me to fully focus on my recovery and improve my mental health. I began medication and went to therapy weekly, but I didn’t seem to be getting any better. Because I had no friends at home—and family around for only part of the day—my lack of social support led me into even greater depression. I shared my struggles with my closest friends, but there was only so much they could do being 5 hours away. I hadn’t realized just how important relationships are for mental well-being. I refrained from posting anything about it on social media because I didn’t want people to know how dark and empty my life had become. I didn’t want people to think I was just looking for attention; all I really wanted was to feel like someone cared. I cried myself to sleep almost every night, wishing God would take me out of my misery and bring me to heaven already. My time at home was awful, but the thought of going back to SLO in the spring somehow kept me going. When I came back to Cal Poly, I began seeing a new therapist and trying different anti-depressant medications to help myself as best I could. Though I wasn’t suffering as much, I continued to binge and struggle with depression. I felt like food was the only thing that could fill the emptiness inside me, but binging only left me feeling emptier. This took a big toll on my weight, as I reached my largest size of 170 pounds that summer. I wasn’t happy with my body, but I was finally trying to fight back against my urges. I was tired of my messed-up brain controlling every aspect of my existence. It was about time I got my life back.

Going into my third year of college, I had many new things to look forward to. I was living in a new house, had new roommates, and was in the process of applying to study abroad. Though I was still struggling, I began to have some hope for the future. Over spring break, I went on a mission trip to Puerto Rico, where I met my boyfriend (who I’m with to this day). Being together much of spring quarter gave me less opportunity to isolate myself in my room and binge, which I was thankful for. And when I did have bad days, my boyfriend was always there to comfort me and get me back up on my feet. Sadly, after studying abroad that summer, my boyfriend left to study abroad himself my entire fourth year. Though I was excited for him, I was also dreading being in a long-distance relationship, especially due to my already unstable mental health. Despite this, I tried to make the best of the year. I began to co-lead a bible study, which served as my only source of happiness. I broke my clavicle early into fall quarter, which felt like the tip of the iceberg for my life falling apart. I was in physical pain, depressed, struggling with an eating disorder, and missing my boyfriend terribly. Many nights I would silently cry alone in bed, wishing I were dead. The only thing keeping me from ending my life was God and my friends/family, as I didn’t want them to experience the same pain I felt almost every day. Despite the difficulties, I made it through most of the year, and was incredibly thankful when things began looking up spring quarter. Following two years of trial and error, I finally got on an anti-depressant that helped bring up my mood and decreased my urges to binge. The medication allowed me to gain some control back over my mind and my life, something I hadn’t had in a long time. I continued with my therapist, sought out greater social support, ate good meals, and began to exercise more regularly. When my boyfriend came home for good that summer, that ultimately felt like the icing on the cake. After battling my mind every day for over five years, I was finally feeling like myself again.

Currently I’m in my fifth year at Cal Poly, and can proudly say I am doing well. I am back to my healthy, normal weight, haven’t binged since spring quarter, and only have a few depressive days each month. Though my mental health is still something I have to work hard at, I am the happiest I’ve been in a long time. I’d like to think that I handled (and still handle) my struggles on my own, but I owe a lot of my success to my social support. My therapist, boyfriend, friends, and family have provided me with so much love, guidance, and acceptance. I couldn’t have gotten through these past few years without them, or most importantly, God, who has given me a reason to fight through it all. 

Looking back now, I’m grateful for all that I went through. My struggles have helped shape me into the strong, authentic, compassionate woman I am today. The darkest days of my life have made the good days so much brighter; I’m grateful to be alive and to be me, which isn’t something I’ve always been able to say. The times I’ve felt unlovable have made me quick to love others and slow to judge. I’ve learned that behind people’s hurtful words and actions often lies great pain. To anyone going through something similar, I want to tell you it’s okay to not be okay, but it’s not okay to stay there alone. Talk to someone, whether it be a friend, family member, therapist, or stranger. Mental illness is hard, but it’s way less lonely to go through with someone by your side. Remember that your struggles are not the end of your story but an important part of it—the scars we carry make us better, stronger, tougher, and somewhat ironically, more whole.