Struggling with an ED

Stepping on the scale and seeing the numbers start to go up. That is the day my life started to change. It was raining outside and the house was silent, except for the classical music playing within. My thoughts racing and my emotions colliding and crashing. Feeling the soft rug in between my toes as the tears were running down my face. I was standing in the bathroom in front of the scale as if it was taunting me to take the step. Letting my eyes wander around the room looking for an escape of the mental torture. My eyes becoming fixated on the blue and white bottle of laxatives on the side of the spotlessly cleaned bathtub. As my mind was exhausted and tired of fighting, I stepped onto the scale and looked down seeing the numbers start to settle on the number 100 pounds. ‘I wasn’t skinny enough’ my mind kept repeating to me as I stepped off and grabbed the bottle of laxatives. My hands shaking and struggling to get the childproof cap off of the familiar bottle. My heart feeling as though it was going to pound out of my chest.

My knees becoming weak, I sit down on the soft red rug and pour all of the pills out, vigorously counting all of the pills to see how many I had left. Hearing each individual pill hit the tile floor with a soft tap making my ears ring and drown out the background music. "I can make it through another few more months," I said aloud, not expecting to say it as loudly as I did while the soundtracks were switching. Slowly wiping the heavy tears from my eyes, I picked up two pills and quickly swallowed them. Placing all the other red pills back into the bottle as if they were never touched. Then quickly stood up and hiding the bottle back in my bathroom drawer, hoping mom wouldn’t find out that I took them from the medicine cabinet. Allowing the air to rush into my lungs I took a deep breath and turned off the bathroom light with a click. Every part of me trying to go on with the day as if it was normal.

Only an hour later, mom came walking through the door slightly frazzled after her long day at work. She lifted her arms up placing the groceries on the island in the middle of the kitchen. Sitting on the couch, I panicked at the thought that she brought more food home. Hiding my body under a blanket, mom finally came and into the room sitting right next to me. Her voice sounding like butter as she said she was worried about me. She gently placed her hand on my shoulder and the conversation began. My mind accidentally drowning out her words, I sat there feeling criticized about my body. Her words slowly processing through my mind and only a few words sticking. “I have noticed you have been starving yourself, counting your calories, and losing a lot of weight.” The tears bursting against my eyelids and down my face.

“I’m sorry,” is all my voice would allow me to say. The rest of her words scattering in my mind as if they had no meaning behind them.

The anorexia was slowly killing me and taking over my life. My mind telling me that I deserve to starve myself every day. As if I did something wrong that I couldn’t ever fix unless I died. Working day after day with my mom to regain the weight back. I’m still not better, I do still struggle but that is one day that changed my life. One quote that keeps me through recovery is, “You have the power to say this is not how my story will end," by an unknown author. This is my life struggling with anorexia. Thank you!

~Natalie C.