I’ve been following this blog for a while... and after a mini-breakdown tonight, I decided I wanted to share my story as an anonymous person. This is the first time I am sharing this with someone - full, uncovered, version, all emotions included. Some people that have crossed my path know my story, but not as I am about to share it. Whether this gets posted or not, just sharing will be one of the biggest burdens to let go of.
*inhale* here goes...
It began in grade 3. My parents had moved out of the old apartment building we used to live in, to a new house in a totally different city. I missed the friends I grew up with - we all had similar families and all lived in the same building. I figured though, as a young 3rd grader might, that I could make friends here and start over. I was shy, everyone was already friends.
Over the course of the next 5 years, I was friends with the people in my class and we enjoyed each other’s company. I enjoyed there’s, but with a price. I envied all of my girlfriends. They were all so thin, so skinny. They were graceful as they glided over the school yard or through the gym. My friends could fit into each other's jeans... and I couldn’t.
There were 2 boys.... who always made fun of me. They called me a pig. (I have never been able to tell people this... to admit that they called me a pig). I was constantly teased about being chubby. My parents had to come in and have a talk with the teacher.
In grade 7, I received a straight A report card. There was a store called Siblings for young girls, and they had this promotion that if you had a good report card and brought it in, you could get a discount on clothes. I brought it in and I was so excited to start shopping! They had so many cool jeans, with bleach stains and glitter all over them... and I couldn’t fit into them... none of the clothes fit. I was devastated. My mom would always tell me…Stand like this and your legs will look smaller. Always hold your arms out when you pose for a picture, they won’t look so big. My mom was never afraid to tell me if I looked too big, or ate too much, or why I was gaining weight.
I started high school and my weight was the least of my concerns as I went through a very emotional stage. I was depressed and cutting and seeing the school psychiatrist. After coming back from our trip to Europe in grade 10, I was a whopping 166 lbs. My mom had seen a naturopathic doctor and had lost a lot of weight, so I went to see her too. She put me on this diet and I lost weight... Over the next 2 years, and by the end of prom, I was 146 lbs. I was doing it the right way - eating healthy and a regular gym-goer.
The summer was the beginning of devastation....
I began restricting and using laxatives. I was using up to 15 a day, buying a hundred at a time. I had boxes and boxes of Exlax hidden in my room. When I ran out one time, I drank castor oil. I felt so sick and was horrible the next day. There were many days I wanted to stop and didn’t. My weight remained around 140 still, plateau and I couldn’t lose it. I felt fat and horrible with myself, so guilty. My mom found the boxes in my room. She didn’t understand but I promised her I stopped. That summer we went to a seminar, and I had a connection with a life-coach. I gave him the laxatives I had sneaked into the states and promised I would stop. An empty promise.
In September, university started. First girl I meet, well wouldn’t you guess, suffered from anorexia. Her family had issues and she dealt with it through her eating. She fueled me. By this point, I had discovered pro-ana sites and was well aware of many tips and tricks. We’d sit there and talk about our weight and how we lost our weight and we’d go for dinner and eat low-calorie foods and enjoy each other’s company. We’d bake cookies... but she wouldn’t eat any. I did. And it made me feel obese around her. Another friend suffered from bulimia, and she shared many horror stories with me.
I started modeling, and the pictures didn’t help. Every photoshoot I took, I felt fat. fat. Fat!!! I didn’t want to see the pictures, I didn’t want to live in the fat body I saw.
I continued to use laxatives, many a day. I got down to 135. Not a big jump, but it was more of the emotional joys and willpower that I celebrated. My mom doesn’t know I still use laxatives. I buy 200 a month, and try to ration them... I’ve stopped buying more because I don’t want my parents to ask me where my money is going. I time my laxatives with how much food I eat. It consumes me, and when I write in my livejournal, my depression becomes worse. Here are a few quotes from my new journal (I deleted my old one in hopes of going cold turkey - didn’t last):
Being on your period doesn't mean you can be a PIG
breakfast: venti sugar-free caramel iced coffee with soy (15-20)
snack: handful blanched almonds (15)
lunch: large coffee over ice with soy and splenda, some cucumber pieces that fell from Sunny's sandwich (15), chinese food (veggies + sesame potatoes) (don't know, probably 500)
1 bottle water (0)
snack: 1 myoplex bar (190) + 1 diet pepsi (0)
dinner: 1 grande iced coffee with soy (15), 1 med bag popcorn from AMC + some coke (480)
Total: TOO MUCH! MORE THAN 500..
I am fat and gross and disgusting. My thighs jiggle. My arms are huge. My stomach makes me look pregnant...fuck my life. Why can't I have control. Why can't I just love being fat...why do I have to hate how I look?
I don't know what others see in me.
I wouldn't be friends with me.
wish my fat body would just deteriorate away off of me... I wish my flesh fell off my bones so that there was nothing left.
I'm fucking disgusting.
I failed at my cleanse.
I failed at my goal.
I failed to be committed,
I failed to be enough.
I failed to be thin.
I failed to work harder,
I failed to eat less
I failed to use more.
I failed to actually work out
and I failed to care.
I let myself go and I see the numbers going up and up and it hurts and I don't care
and I never feel better
I never feel full
I always feel hungry.
I always feel empty....
I hate myself
I don't want to go to school, I want to sit in my room and hide and eat and fucking cry.
I hate this,
I hate this so much.
I hate myself.
Someone. end this.
It came about under uncanny circumstances - stomach flu. Got it from the bf, probably threw up 4 times, and yesterday I lived off of 500mL ginger ale and about 25 crackers.
I guess, this is when you know you're sick; sick in the head for celebrating how many times you threw up because you knew you were losing weight along with it.
The smell of food disgusts me, and I don't think I can even eat fried eggs or sandwiches or fries ever again...
I wish that gravol made me feel nauseas towards food only, not take away my nausea all-together.
|maybe I need help|
or maybe I could just keep losing weight and celebrate in silence.
I want to love myself but I just can’t. It is impossible now... it is a distant dream.
I will never get better, will I. I wish I had someone to talk to.
I’ve already had 10 laxatives today. go me.
How can someone say this...how can they say they hate themselves. This consumes me. It consumes my spirit. And makes me want to die... I want to waste away. But I don’t because I love my boyfriend and my family.
Eating disorders are the hardest thing in the world to deal with... I wish for every girl to never desire one... I wanted one. And I got it. And I wish I didn’t. I wish to God that this didn’t happen to me, that I didn’t do this to myself. I hate myself for bestowing it upon myself and wish that girls desire not this but to keep their innocence and enjoy life and food and love their bodies.
It makes me cry, to not love myself. But it feels good to have gotten this off my chest. I hope I get help before I die.