Trigger warning: this article addresses sensitive subject matter such as eating disorders and mental health. Read at your own discretion.
I have struggled with mental health my entire life.
As a kid, I didn’t know what was going on. I would walk home from school and cry in my room, refusing to come out.
I didn’t tell anyone how I was feeling because I didn’t fully understand what was going on and felt embarrassed. I felt ashamed that I had to go to the school bathroom to cry while I could hear others giggling in the hallway with their friends.
It wasn’t until high school that my depression and anxiety started to truly take over. During my freshman year, I developed an eating disorder; I felt like it was the only thing I had control over.
I threw away my breakfast in the outside dumpster so my parents wouldn’t see that I didn’t eat it and went to school with an empty stomach. A bag of chips during the day and a half-eaten portion of dinner became my everyday routine.
Throughout the day, I was weak and often dizzy, but I felt in control.
During lunch, I would talk as much as I could so by the end of the hour, I had hardly eaten anything. My friends started to notice the lack of food I was eating, but I told them I had a big breakfast and wasn’t hungry.
The lie felt invincible, until I started to rapidly lose weight.
My friends and family members started asking me what I was eating throughout the day and monitoring me. It felt like I was losing the control I was desperately trying to maintain.
My mom worked at my high school and would walk past the cafeteria to examine my tray and see what I had eaten. I mastered the art of moving my food around the plate to form the illusion that I had eaten more than I actually had.
Weeks passed, and my weight kept dropping. I realized I had a problem, but didn’t know how to stop.
Though the weather was still hot, baggy sweatshirts and pants became my best friend, as they covered up my body. Having to change into my P.E. uniform felt almost impossible to me because everyone would see what I had done.
Spanish was another class that I grew to hate. One of my classmates decided that my nickname was going to be “twig arms.” That name stuck for the entire school year, and the damage it caused stayed with me even longer.
Angry confrontations from family saying they would send me away if I didn’t eat something deepened my depression. I felt that I was disappointing everyone around me and growing into a disgusting version of myself.
It wasn’t until my best friend sat me down with tears in her eyes and explained to me that I wasn’t going to make it if I kept going down this route that things started to change.
I began to identify “safe foods” that I felt most comfortable eating and saw my first therapist.
Slowly, I began eating a small breakfast, lunch and dinner. It didn’t feel right at first, but I knew it was the right thing to do. Salads, soups and smoothies became comfort foods and contained the nutrients I needed.
With a lot of therapy and the help of my loved ones by my side every step of the way, I gained weight and felt stronger throughout my journey.
The lunch room still felt triggering to me, so my school counselor let me eat lunch in her office and allowed me to invite my friends along. I finally felt control over my life again, which I never thought I would have while having a balanced diet.
While this struggle is not over for me, I now know that I have control over other things in my life that aren’t harmful.
Reading books, writing and even planning out what I am doing for the week became safe control options for me. I recommend these methods to anyone who feels similarly to how I did.
I have endless thanks to give to my family and friends who always helped me and encouraged me to keep going.
If you’re struggling, know that although you may feel alone, you never are.
The phone number for the National Eating Disorders Association is 1 (800) 931-2237.
