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Inside Anorexia
by Stella Jones, 06.12.07
I would agonize over whether I'd eaten seven grapes or eight. I would stand in the kitchen trying to decide whether to allow myself food for hours. |
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I was eighteen when I first thought about a calorie. For my entire life, I'd been naturally skinny, and never gave a single thought to what I ate. If anything, I wished I weighed more when I was young.
It was a boy who changed the way I thought about my weight. I don't blame my anorexia on this boy, or anyone else. But I had a major crush on my best friend. He was popular with the girls, and he'd tell me all about his hookups, flirtations, and attractions. His number one focus was on the physical. He liked pretty girls. And he liked skinny girls. He wouldn't date a girl if she wasn't thin enough. He got me thinking about my weight.
And then came a more direct trigger, also from my best friend. He started teasing me about my weight, which was ridiculous considering that it was below average for someone my height. But it got to me. I stopped eating foods I enjoyed, and began an excessive exercise routine. And though I called it a diet, it didn't feel like a diet. Maybe I'd finally get some attention from my best friend. Maybe I'd get so skinny he'd be attracted to me.
I Was Sick
I dropped 20 pounds — which was pretty dramatic weight loss, as I was 5'9" and only weighed around 125 pounds to begin with — really fast. I ate "safe" foods, like raw vegetables and fat-free yogurt. I skipped meals altogether if I could. People noticed, but I made excuses: "My job has me running around all the time." "I really just don't like fried food." "I'm not in the mood for ice cream." "Going to the gym just makes me feel good."
I would agonize over whether I'd eaten seven grapes or eight. I would stand in the kitchen for hours, trying to decide whether to allow myself food. I would run four, five, six, seven miles. I'd wake up in a panic thinking I had eaten something I'd never let myself touch. I chewed food and spat it out in the sink just to taste it. I'd throw huge amounts of food in the trash. If I had to eat around other people, I'd spit food out it my napkin, or move it around on the plate, or invent stories explaining why I couldn't eat.
I would stay this way for the next four years. What people often fail to understand about eating disorders is how consuming they are. My problem became my life. I was an anorexic, and that's all I was.
I Didn't Want to Get Better
I couldn't maintain relationships with friends and family, and I certainly couldn't have a romantic relationship. I no longer had interests or hobbies or passions. All that was left was my anorexia. And I was good at it. I was good at starvation patterns and exercise routines. I felt successful and strong.
It was a constant high. I would go into the grocery store and study all the food, and when I walked out empty-handed I felt powerful. I was proud that I could survive on so little. I'd walk down the street and look at other women and think, "I can do something that you could never do."
I Was Dying
My hair fell out. My gums bled. My skin developed a gray hue. I had trouble walking with the pain in my knees from obsessive running. I stopped getting my period. My heart rate decreased dramatically. Even the chemicals in my brain were affected by malnourishment, which caused depression.
And then there was the fatigue. I got tired opening doors or walking up two stairs. But all I wanted to do was run farther, do another aerobics video, be more active. I made myself walk everywhere to try and burn extra calories. I wouldn't let myself take elevators because I knew the stairs would burn off just a little more fat.
Getting Help
I had no idea whether I could live a life without anorexia, and it almost seemed silly to try. I took a leave of absence for a semester of college to focus on outpatient treatment, which consisted of sessions with a therapist, a dietician, and an eating disorder specialist. When I took a turn for the worse, my therapist pushed for hospitalization. It had come up before, but this time was different. I remember standing in my kitchen one day agonizing over what I should eat and suddenly thinking, "I give up. I'll go."
I spent six months in inpatient treatment. It was horrible and wonderful. Stifling and liberating. Frightening and comforting. I was 21 years old, but I needed someone to take care of me. I needed someone to tell me what I was supposed to eat, and then I needed someone to help me eat it. I needed to know that someone was outside my door when I woke up in the middle of the night panicking about the meals I had to eat the next day. I needed someone watching me to make sure I wasn't walking up and down stairs. I needed someone to tell me over and over again that my body needed rest.
Recovery
There is no quick fix when it comes to eating disorders. I had to talk about things I didn't want to talk about. I had to try to understand how my anorexia was "serving" me and why I was so reluctant to let go of it. I had to look at why I needed to feel detached from life. And more simply, but no less difficult, I had to eat when I didn't want to.
Eating disorder professionals emphasize that full recovery from anorexia is possible, and that people like me can live a completely normal life in relation to food. But almost three years after my discharge from treatment, I still struggle. In times of stress, I still revert to anorexic tendencies. For a substantial chunk of my life, anorexia was what I knew, and it is not easy to let go of that.
But recovery is possible. Yes, I struggle from time to time, but I have a life that I never even dreamed possible. I'm happy. And although anorexia will always be part of who I am, I am no longer defined by an illness. I am a real person with a real life. And that is what recovery is.
If you or someone you know needs help, don't wait. |
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