Growing up, I've always been really short (I'm not even 5' tall), and I was always slightly overweight. My heaviest weight was 113 pounds, and I had problems with my body image, but I simply loved food too much to eat and I'm not very athletic so that didn't help. Last summer I weighed 105-106 pounds--apparently the healthy weight for someone in my height range is 100 pounds, so I was not highly overweight, but I'm not sure what was the triggering factor, but I decided I wanted to lose weight. I set my goal weight at 95 pounds and wanted to reach that weight at any costs.
I went to Vietnam, and I always lose weight there simply because my body is not used to the bacteria in the food, leading to a lot of stomachaches and digestive problems. I came back from Vietnam at 100 pounds, but I was still eating healthily. The problem started once I came back--since I had lost weight, I was afraid to gain it back and began weighing myself obsessively--up to 20 times a day. I tried to cut out starch from my diet, and my family went on a healthy diet together: brown rice, lots of vegetables, less meat, etc. However, since I figured brown rice was healthier, I started eating more, and went back up to 103 pounds. I decided the heaviest I wanted to be at any point--after eating--was 100 pounds.
When I went college visiting on the East Coast with my dad, I had problems with my bowel movements and struggled to go to the bathroom. I lost three pounds over the span of three days because I constantly felt bloated and would tell my dad I couldn't eat. He knew about my bowel problems and didn't pressure me, but when I returned from my trip, I went to a summer retreat. Since my parents weren't there to regulate what I ate and I had trouble with constipation, I lost another three pounds and returned home at 97 pounds. I was exercising and swimming there, but I often felt tired, but my fear of feeling bloated prevented me from eating properly.
My mom noticed and tried to portion my meals, but since she worked during the day, I started only eating half an English muffin with peanut butter for lunch. The only proper meal I would eat was dinner, as I was under the supervision of my parents. When my parents were at work, I would exercise at home, walking up to 4-5 miles on an empty stomach. My weight slowly dropped to 95 pounds.
When I returned to school, I had lost ten pounds and some of my friends commented on it. I waved it off as the weight I had lost in Vietnam. As this was my senior year, I was busy with the college application process. As I delved more into my stress, I felt the only thing I could control in my life was my diet. My mom started making sure I ate in the morning and would give me large breakfasts that made me feel full and bloated. I constantly threw away my packed lunches at school, always feeling bad that I was wasting food, but feeling worse if I ate. Some days when my mom left before I woke up for breakfast, I would throw away breakfasts she made for me, or feed them to my dogs, or flush them down the toilet. I always felt that when I ate, I would get fat. I felt as though people were looking at me and they could see if I put on one pound, and that they could perceive that I had become fatter once I'd eaten. I began to hide during the first half of lunch from my friends so I wouldn't feel pressured to eat with them or so they wouldn't suspect what I was doing to myself. Weekends were Hell because I was under the constant supervision of my parents, but I would sneak food into the waistband of my pants and flush it down the toilet later/feed it to my dogs under the table. Even though I had hit my ideal weight of 95 pounds, I decided the heaviest I ever wanted to be was 95, and shot for 93 pounds, 92... 91, 90...
I became obsessed with circling my hands around my wrists to see if I had put on any weight. If my wrists felt bigger, I would freak out and cry to myself hysterically. If I put on more than half a pound after eating a meal, I would slap my stomach and cry. I constantly looked at my stomach in the mirror. At my lowest weight I was 87 pounds. I often felt dizzy and tired, and had difficulty concentrating on my schoolwork.
I'm not sure when I started abusing laxatives, but it was after my mom decided she had to portion my meals. My dad told me I looked like a skeleton, but I always felt that they were trying to overfeed me and make me eat unecessary amounts of food. I always felt that I should only eat when I was hungry, and therefore would go entire days without eating until dinner to make sure that I would be able to eat what my parents forced me to. With my license, I would drive after school to buy laxatives (Milk of Magnesia, laxative pills, etc.) I would drink entire bottles of Milk of Magnesia in one night and could go from weighing 100 pounds at night to 93 pounds the next morning. Laxative pills always made my stomach hurt intensely, but I was afraid that if I stopped taking them, I would return to feeling bloated and overweight.
My anorexia continued through my college process; I would binge eat and then refuse to eat. I was caught in a vicious cycle. Over the summer, my parents confronted me various times, but they couldn't understand how I was losing weight as they didn't know about my laxative dependency. My doctor was shocked that I had lost more than 15 pounds and she advised that I put on weight to be around 100 pounds again to be healthy. I started college, still dependent on laxative pills--I brought my entire stash with me to college and stocked up on pills. I continued abusing them until the beginning of October, when my parents came to visit and my mom discovered my stash.
My parents threatened to pull me out of college if I didn't stop abusing my body and start eating properly. I flushed all my pills down the toilet and have not touched any kind of medication. I realize now that my constipation resulted from me starving myself and not a failure of my bowels. I've been able to eat and digest everything properly, and I'm not at 100 pounds. I exercise regularly to help myself stay in shape, and I've never felt more beautiful.
I pray that all of you will be successful in conquering anorexia. I would never wish it on anyone, even my worst enemy. Anorexia is a disease, and the first step to conquering it is by admitting that you have a problem. Once you admit it to yourself, try sharing it with somebody and asking for help.
If you know someone with anorexia, please intervene. I cannot believe that throughout my senior year, not one of my friends ever said anything to me, when it was evident I had a problem. My hair was falling out, I was exhausted all the time, and I was always MIA during lunch. If someone had reached out to me--other than my family--and showed his/her concern, it would have meant the world to me. (I thought my family loved me no matter what and therefore they would like me even though I was fat). Just because a person denies his or her eating disorder does not mean he/she doesn't want help or doesn't have a problem--be persistent. Invite him/her to lunch--constantly. Watching other people eat made it feel like it was okay for me to eat.
I wish you the best of luck, and I just wanted to share my story with you. One month free of anorexia, and life is beautiful.
xx
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