My Confession

I have a confession to make. Ready? Here goes. When I was a sophomore in high school, I became anorexic. I don't know if the term is "I became anorexic" or "I developed anorexia". Either way, I did have an eating disorder. I can look back now and laugh it off, only because my anorexia was not so bad. I didn't go too far, to the point where I was emaciated and on the bring of death, and I was able to help myself out of it. But the more I think about it and think about how easy it was for me to be anorexic, I wonder if I would ever be susceptible to anorexia again.

It was the beginning of 10th grade and I had to go to the school nurse to get a general exam and a clean bill of health so I could participate in sports. As a cheerleader, it was a requirement. It wasn't my first visit to the nurse... I was in volleyball and had played softball the year before so I knew the procedure. Everything was routine and as it should be, except my weight. When it came time for the nurse to weigh me, I was shocked at the results. According to her scale (the same one I had used the year prior), I had gained 10 pounds in 12 months. *Gasp*!!!

I was healthy and to look at me, she couldn't even tell. She assured me that it was mostly muscle, seeing as that I was pretty lean and was active in sports. She told me not to worry about it. But I did. I couldn't believe I had let myself get so 'fat'. And I was going to do something about it.

Not sure how I settled on anorexia as a solution to my problem... it must have been something I had read about. But I figured it was my best bet. I was young and dumb and I needed to lose those 10 pounds and fast.

I started slowly. No one can just starve themselves from the get go... at least I couldn't. I had to ease myself into it. I love to eat so it was really hard, at first. I would skip breakfast, which was easy to do since I was not really a morning person or a breakfast person to begin with. Then soon after, I would skip lunch as well. Eventually, I was up to not eating anything at all for the whole day. I was surprised how easy it got to just not eat, especially when the urge to eat was gone and the painful hunger pangs had subsided.

I was going a whole week without eating. And I was also exercising every single night before bed... this on top of any other sports activity I participated in at school. I didn't have money for a gym membership so I exercised in my bedroom with barely enough room to move around, but I did it. I felt I had to. I turned on the radio and danced my heart out, to my own choreographed steps and improvised moves.

Pretty soon, I noticed a change. It was paying off. I was losing weight and I thought I looked great. But I couldn't stop. I still needed to starve and exercise for fear of the weight creeping back up. I even remember my step sister commenting on how flat my tummy was... the 100 or so sit-ups I was doing a night had chiseled my stomach into a four pack. I was so proud. And so I would not stop... I was not about to stop and give up what I had gained. A rocking hard, skinny body.

But my family started to notice and not the good stuff. My sister caught on to me and tried to warn me. There was no more fat on my body lose and so the next place for me to lose any fat were my breasts. That did not sit well with me. I was already small and I did not want to get any smaller. But even then, I still couldn't stop. The mirror didn't lie. While I looked good, I thought there was always room for improvement. My grandmother staged an 'intervention' before there were really interventions. It involved my father, my grandmother and my stepmother.

My grandmother complained to my father just how stick thin I was getting; she was worried. She had also noticed that I refused to eat dinner each night, with the excuse that I wasn't hungry (she was really mad because I wouldn't eat her food). I didn't think I looked THAT thin at all. I looked fine. If anything I could stand to lose 5 or so more pounds, I thought. She pointed out how thin my legs looked and begged my father to talk to me. It didn't do too much good, as whatever my grandmother and father said at the time went through one ear and out the other. But to quell concern and shake off suspicion, I did start to eat. Besides maybe a fruit for the day, I would eat dinners on Fridays. But it got to the point where I was looking forward so much for Friday to come that the hunger pangs started again. I remember being so dizzy with hunger while at a cheerleading game, but refusing to eat a morsel because I looked so damn hot in my outfit.

After a while. I gave myself permission to maybe eat just one meal a day, but I would double my exercise time. Eventually though, I just got tired. I'm not exactly sure when that point of revelation came, where I realized that what I was doing was dangerous, but I think it had something to do with a conversation I had with my sister. She was telling about my metabolism and just how much starving would affect how it worked. I had a good metabolism but if I continued to starve myself, it would be hard for it to work properly in helping me burn off fat. In turn, it would be hard for me to lose weight the RIGHT way, as my body had gotten so used to being starved it was accustomed to holding on to fat in fear. I also was aware for the first time that if I went any further with my starvation, I could die.

I also realized something. It wasn't about weight, it was about something else. Low self esteem, maybe. Although I had always been a confident girl on the outside I still felt like I didn't measure up in many ways. It was about control. I couldn't control much about my life at 16, but I could control what I ate and if I ate at all. It was about feeling inadequate and maybe even a little depressed. my teenage life was filled with angst, rage, rebellious behavior... I needed an outlet to express myself. Not eating was my way of doing so.

Thankfully, I didn't need professional help at that time. I had the support I needed to overcome my illness. My sister, mainly, who understood the root of my problem and helped me talk about it. My fears about getting fat, not feeling like I was good enough. She helped me get it all out in the opening.

Now, why after all this time, do I feel the need to bring this up again. Well, one of many things. I was watching entertainment TV this weekend and it really struck me how many people, famous and otherwise, suffer from eating disorders. It's not as publicized as other illnesses, but it is deadly and so many suffer in silence. I was lucky. I got help before it was too late. To this day I have no idea how much weight I lost, or how far I went, starving myself to perfection. I never stepped on a scale throughout my ordeal. Numbers lie, and I feared seeing the numbers would push me over the edge. I feared all my work would be for naught.

Today I would say that I am beyond anorexia. Or any other eating disorder disease. I am far from perfect, but I am working on myself. Of course, I still look in the mirror and see that there is room for improvement and of course it doesn't help that I have had three kids since that time and am still struggling to lose the 'baby fat'. But I would like to think I am above starving myself. I would like to think that I learned my lesson. But I still worry that one day, it might seem too easy to just not eat.