I'll let you in on a little secret: anorexia nervosa made me want to die.
One night, while in high school, I was laying on the floor of my bedroom, crying. I had just finished doing leg lifts, crunches, and pushups...whatever physical activity I could do in the quiet of my room to cancel out the huge meal I had for dinner.
I was over it.
It was too much.
I was too fat. (Read: "fat." I wavered around 100 pounds at this point, I think.)
I just...wanted to die. I'd rather be dead than be fat. I never wanted to leave my bedroom. No person would ever want to look at my huge, ugly self ever again. No way. I might as well take all of them out of their misery and disappear.
But.
What if, when I died, they'd have to do an autopsy? Wouldn't they have to dissect me and weigh all my organs and body parts one at a time? THEY WOULD KNOW HOW FAT I WAS AND IT WOULD BE WRITTEN DOWN ON PAPER, ON RECORD FOREVER. My last weight would be gross and awful and that's all anyone would remember of me. THEY WOULD KNOW I'M DISGUSTING.
***
I actually thought these things.
It's National Eating Disorder Awareness Week. This year's NEDAwareness Week theme is "Everybody Knows Somebody" – and you know me.
1 in 5 (20%!) people who suffer from an eating disorder DIE because of the disease. That is the highest mortality rate of any mental illness.
I still struggle with things (thanks, anxiety) but I am now HEALTHY. I make sure I consume enough calories every day, and I eat a variety of foods. I try to go on walks. I try not to stress after a big meal or an unexpected snack.
And, most importantly, I'm getting counseling.
Suffering through something like this shouldn't be kept a secret. PLEASE tell someone, and get help.
One night, while in high school, I was laying on the floor of my bedroom, crying. I had just finished doing leg lifts, crunches, and pushups...whatever physical activity I could do in the quiet of my room to cancel out the huge meal I had for dinner.
I was over it.
It was too much.
I was too fat. (Read: "fat." I wavered around 100 pounds at this point, I think.)
I just...wanted to die. I'd rather be dead than be fat. I never wanted to leave my bedroom. No person would ever want to look at my huge, ugly self ever again. No way. I might as well take all of them out of their misery and disappear.
But.
What if, when I died, they'd have to do an autopsy? Wouldn't they have to dissect me and weigh all my organs and body parts one at a time? THEY WOULD KNOW HOW FAT I WAS AND IT WOULD BE WRITTEN DOWN ON PAPER, ON RECORD FOREVER. My last weight would be gross and awful and that's all anyone would remember of me. THEY WOULD KNOW I'M DISGUSTING.
***
I actually thought these things.
It's National Eating Disorder Awareness Week. This year's NEDAwareness Week theme is "Everybody Knows Somebody" – and you know me.
1 in 5 (20%!) people who suffer from an eating disorder DIE because of the disease. That is the highest mortality rate of any mental illness.
I still struggle with things (thanks, anxiety) but I am now HEALTHY. I make sure I consume enough calories every day, and I eat a variety of foods. I try to go on walks. I try not to stress after a big meal or an unexpected snack.
And, most importantly, I'm getting counseling.
Suffering through something like this shouldn't be kept a secret. PLEASE tell someone, and get help.
Its amazing how distorted our views of our bodies can be, especially it seems, in our teen age years. I thought I was completely fat (though, I never had any guilt about eating), but when I look at pictures from then, no way. And, I was a dude. Cuts across "categories," I would think.
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