Haha, so I'm writing up some articles to submit to ThoughtCatalog, so needless to say, they're rather deep and heartfelt. So, as a warning.... this is about eating disorder issues. Please do not continue if this will trigger you in any way. <3
This is quite personal, and since I don't know you guys in real life I thought this would be a good way to get out my anxiety over having other people read it.
Constructive criticism is completely welcome.
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"You're Not Sick Enough"
I was never skeletal thin, hospitalized, or told I “needed to eat”. I felt like nobody noticed the way the weight just dropped off of me so quickly in high school, and that honestly motivated me even more. I had this somewhat twisted, subconscious desire to make people realize that I was hurting—I was sick. I just wanted somebody to care, really. The entire time I struggled, I never would have identified myself as having a real eating disorder. I obviously had obsessive tendencies about food and exercise, but nothing more than that. I was just barely underweight, I still ate, and all seemed to be well—forget the fact that I had a malfunctioning reproductive system and spent math class trying painfully hard to accurately calculate the calories I had consumed. I didn't appear sick to anybody, so I was fine.
I didn't realize that it is not at all necessary to meet a list of “requirements” to have an eating disorder. People don’t have to think you have an eating disorder in order for you to really have one. They don’t know you and they don’t know your story. They don’t know the times you exercised like a madman despite running a high fever, or when you cried after eating two cashews more than you had intended. Nobody but you knows your thoughts or the things that cripple you with anxiety and fear. Every time I opened up to someone about the weight obsession that plagued me, I nearly knew they were thinking that I wasn’t sick enough. I was too busy thinking about how I appeared on the outside that I neglected my internal health. I was sick, and I knew it. Not only my body, but my brain was sick. My thoughts were no longer my own but belonged to a deep rooted desire to be as skinny as my body could possibly withstand. That desire emerged without me realizing, and merely getting in shape for summer became something that I lived for. My life became my attempt to get thin, thinner, even thinner than that, and then as thin as I could be while still living.
I’m thirty pounds heavier than I was when this thing developed, and I just began going to therapy to help me with these issues a week ago. I definitely don’t appear sick now, and I’m sure not many people would believe that I truly have an eating disorder. I eat more than I used to, but my thoughts about food, exercise, and my body are still so disordered that I’m willing to own my story and admit that something is still wrong. I know I would be so much more restrictive if I could possibly stand it, but for some frustrating reason I can’t. I obsessively exercise to compensate, and that’s not normal. I spend hours looking at old pictures wishing more than anything I could look like that again. That’s not normal, either. My days revolve around resisting food and feeling so, so ashamed and distressed when I realize I can’t anymore. I look fine, much better than fine, really--in terms of health, not aesthetics. But I’m owning my story, and I’m so proud of myself for getting the help I need despite how scared I was that nobody would believe me.
It's not anyone else's role to tell you if you're sick or not. That's up to you. Don't let anyone else downplay the struggles you're going through, because they'll never actually know how much you're hurting.
This is quite personal, and since I don't know you guys in real life I thought this would be a good way to get out my anxiety over having other people read it.
Constructive criticism is completely welcome.
~~~~
"You're Not Sick Enough"
I was never skeletal thin, hospitalized, or told I “needed to eat”. I felt like nobody noticed the way the weight just dropped off of me so quickly in high school, and that honestly motivated me even more. I had this somewhat twisted, subconscious desire to make people realize that I was hurting—I was sick. I just wanted somebody to care, really. The entire time I struggled, I never would have identified myself as having a real eating disorder. I obviously had obsessive tendencies about food and exercise, but nothing more than that. I was just barely underweight, I still ate, and all seemed to be well—forget the fact that I had a malfunctioning reproductive system and spent math class trying painfully hard to accurately calculate the calories I had consumed. I didn't appear sick to anybody, so I was fine.
I didn't realize that it is not at all necessary to meet a list of “requirements” to have an eating disorder. People don’t have to think you have an eating disorder in order for you to really have one. They don’t know you and they don’t know your story. They don’t know the times you exercised like a madman despite running a high fever, or when you cried after eating two cashews more than you had intended. Nobody but you knows your thoughts or the things that cripple you with anxiety and fear. Every time I opened up to someone about the weight obsession that plagued me, I nearly knew they were thinking that I wasn’t sick enough. I was too busy thinking about how I appeared on the outside that I neglected my internal health. I was sick, and I knew it. Not only my body, but my brain was sick. My thoughts were no longer my own but belonged to a deep rooted desire to be as skinny as my body could possibly withstand. That desire emerged without me realizing, and merely getting in shape for summer became something that I lived for. My life became my attempt to get thin, thinner, even thinner than that, and then as thin as I could be while still living.
I’m thirty pounds heavier than I was when this thing developed, and I just began going to therapy to help me with these issues a week ago. I definitely don’t appear sick now, and I’m sure not many people would believe that I truly have an eating disorder. I eat more than I used to, but my thoughts about food, exercise, and my body are still so disordered that I’m willing to own my story and admit that something is still wrong. I know I would be so much more restrictive if I could possibly stand it, but for some frustrating reason I can’t. I obsessively exercise to compensate, and that’s not normal. I spend hours looking at old pictures wishing more than anything I could look like that again. That’s not normal, either. My days revolve around resisting food and feeling so, so ashamed and distressed when I realize I can’t anymore. I look fine, much better than fine, really--in terms of health, not aesthetics. But I’m owning my story, and I’m so proud of myself for getting the help I need despite how scared I was that nobody would believe me.
It's not anyone else's role to tell you if you're sick or not. That's up to you. Don't let anyone else downplay the struggles you're going through, because they'll never actually know how much you're hurting.
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