VAL'S STORY: "I WAS NEVER DIAGNOSED WITH DEPRESSION OR BIPOLAR BUT I KNOW SOMETHING IS WRONG."

“Like many others, I don’t know why I’m writing this. Maybe because I want someone to read, someone to know and understand what I did throughout my life. Why I did it and to help encourage people to get help, the help they need and deserve. This is going to be long, maybe not as long as I thought but long enough. And I’ll apologize for that, because I know you get sent lots of things. I love your blog and it has inspired me to give you mine as well.

My name is Val, I’m 21 years old and I love reading about other people. I love reading in general. I was never diagnosed with depression or bipolar but I know something is wrong. Especially when you want nothing more than to waste away and die. My story is not as heart wrenching as many... tragic enough, none the less

First of all, I’d like to say I am so heartbroken for everyone out there with a mental illness. I myself do not suffer from anorexia or bulimia, maybe I am starting there because I’m starting to poke at my fat, and I know I’m fat. I’m supposed to be 120 lbs but I am 147. I LOVE food. But I could never ever bring myself to purge it back up or to starve... simply because I grew up with a father that cooked great and ate even better. We were taught not to care too much about what others say or call you. But it’s hard... it’s so so hard when you do not like what you look at in the mirror.

I wish everyone the best, for treatment and recovery.

My sister started beating me when I was a child, maybe because she was mad that mom left us, maybe she thought it was her fault. No matter what it was, her anger always ALWAYS went towards me. She called me fat when I ate, so I started eating by myself and over eating at night.....I was up to 160 (I was almost more than my father) but I found comfort in food, it didn’t call me names, it didn’t make me hurt. It made me feel good and feel full. Whereas, I felt empty. 24/7. Forget about feeling lonely, because I thought I was better off alone. I never ever felt lonely.

The abuse had a lot to do with everything. Not to mention I felt extremely abandoned by my mother who left when I was just a year old. I tried putting my stepmother (god bless her beautiful soul) in her shoes and called her mother but she wouldn’t let me because "you only have one mother" please too, everyone, please please remember that. My mother was a manic depressant, she suffered from bipolar. Maybe because of the alcoholism, maybe... just maybe, the coke she could not let go of.

I always hated drugs, cigarettes and even alcohol. Simply because I watched everyone throw their lives away for it. My uncle who is dying because he couldn’t stop drinking...rather, he didn’t want to. It took his wife and 3 of his kids to leave. And now he’s stopped, he’s still dying. I couldn’t do that to myself, I have animals... beautiful nieces and nephews. And that’s the only thing that keeps me from blowing my head in on the wall behind me.

Until I turned 12..... I started smoking cigarettes. Then alcohol (god I loved that so much) I still smoke to this day (9 years) 13 came around, I really disliked my mother. Mainly because she left me, I felt like she didn’t want me. That she wanted the drugs, the booze more. I needed something.... I didn’t realize this at such an age, but I did, I wanted to get away from it all. I drank a whole bottle of Bacardi gold that night, was falling all over the place... but I loved the feeling. I really liked getting drunk.

14 came, virginity gone. I didn’t realize how wrong it felt until he got on me, and personally, it hurt, it felt wrong. He left me after abandonment. Another love lost...marijuana. That made me happy, like... ahh, I'm out of my right mind. That’s all I wanted, that’s it, to be out of my right mind. To be numb to all the pain... I still do. When I was 15, I was drinking heavily, eating too much and smoking waaay too much. Mainly alcohol, mainly.... until my mother hung herself a few days shy of her 40th birthday.

What a suckin year! By this time, I was taking ecstasy, oxycontin, alcohol, happy pills, pain pills. God I partied so hard, I loved it. I didn’t pay nothing because my friend was 'with' the dealer so he gave me some too, on request of my friend, his friend whatever. Drugs, all the E I wanted, was right in front of me, like a dispenser, waiting to be sniffed... just waiting, to be put up my nose so I could once again be out of my right mind.

My dad didn’t know what was going on. He thought I was just going over to see my sisters and nephew. But it wasn’t, had nothing to do with that. I wanted to get all sorts of messed up, all sorts... and so I did.

Until almost a year later, I realized what it was doing to my body. One day I could not get any, due to the guy finally got caught and jailed. I was shaking, sweating, paranoid... my body hurt. I wouldn’t eat, I was not hungry. All I wanted was another E pill. So I took my sisters oxycontin and sniffed 3-5 80's that night. Really, the first didn’t do anything, so I did another and another... up my nose they went.

All this time I was juggling this and stress at home, without a woman around and dad working, he needed someone to take care of the animals, turn on the pellet stove, clean, cook etc. I was watching my sister waste away. She was not eating, it took me a while to understand why she thought she was fat and how she got down to 86 pounds (can anyone tell me how? I think I know but I don’t want to believe that my sister had that kind of problem). This sister isn’t the one that beat me, she used to fight with the one that did. She was my saviour and it hurt me so so much to watch her be like that. She got into drugs too and to this day she still struggles with drug addiction.

I reached my 16th birthday and discovered cutting... it was like art to me, watching blood spatter and make a mess, and yes, I liked cleaning my own blood up too. I still struggle with this, as I love to inflict pain on myself. Even a split in my lip,I’ll split it again after just to feel it crack back open. To taste that blood is to taste the warm part of me. Because my heart is blocked by stone, and is very very cold.

Medusa, I am happy to tell you that I no longer struggle with drugs, but depression is an everyday struggle. I don’t want to take pills because I’m REALLY scared it will make it worse. And to the point where I won’t even care if others care if I do die. I don’t believe mine is as deep as others, as I could not bring myself to off myself. I couldn’t do that to my father. I want to die... trust me, I do but I remind myself of my dad, the only parent I have left. My cats (all 3 of them) and my dog. My nieces and nephews that need me. my brothers and sister (that seems to be dying in front of me and claims she’s not on it any more)

Mostly why I am writing this is because I need people to know you can’t let something go and expect it to get better. Mental illnesses do not go away, they get worse. That nagging voice will never shut up unless you make it. Get help... and please, if you think of dying, think of all the people and even your animals that love and need you. Even though our parents are plain rotten sometimes, they should be talked to too. And brought to a conscious level that something is wrong with their child.

Happy holidays every one, God bless everyone’s soul, I really really really wish you the best.

With best and warm regards

~Val”

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BELLE'S STORY: "DO NOT LET 'ANA' OR 'MIA' INTO YOUR LIFE. THEY WILL NEVER EVER LEAVE."

"Me, fours years after the photo below...15 pounds heavier and still thinking I was grotesque..."

 "Where to begin...sometimes I feel too old or too adult to be going through something like this...not to say that any other girl or woman going through this is not "adult" it was just a lack of a better word...

I am currently 29, a married happy woman with THE MOST beautiful precious 8 month boy in the whole entire world! I am so so proud of him.  He is the one thing that really ever keeps me grounded.  Even as I type this I am sitting here watching him play...watching his smiles...listening to his laughs...seeing his innocence...and I really hope he is never touched by the cruelties of this world, at least at such a young age as I was....

In first grade I was the typical little girl...even cute really.  But I was REALLY tall, so I could always carry more weight.  And not to sound cliche, but I am big boned also so I could always carry a bit more weight and still look great and healthy.  But one day when my grandmother dropped me off at school, she saw all the "little" girls and said, "Don't you want to be small like them? You are so big and chubby.  Why not be sweet like them?" It always stuck with me...and then on I started to gain weight. (I also had another abusive issue that I choose not to share...but looking back it could have prompted some issues I never did choose to address.)  Since then I was always overweight throughout grade school and high school.  My father certainly never made the issues better...nor the need for me to wear black...dye my hair....and wear the blackest makeup possible!

I do not know what to call myself at times.  Sometimes I am "ana," sometimes I am "mia"...and mind you, these terms are so fresh to me.  I only discovered the world of "ana" and "mia" a year ago...literally...at least discovering the Internet sensation of EDs.  This was when I was 4 months pregnant (and really was sickened by what so many poor girls put themselves through).

When I had my ED there was never any talk of it...never any notion that this was a big problem in our world.  I discovered it my senior year of high school in Psychology class.  We had a chapter that discussed EDs and it opened my eyes...in a bad way though...like wow...could this work for me?

If I only knew how this disease captures you and keeps you bound to it always. I still remember back to that day in class and thinking "I should try this!"  I never binged...I only ate normally...felt so fat and full and threw that up.  Why is there very little talk about that? Just a normal meal...maybe even less than what a normal person would eat...but have to purge it as soon as possible. I had a bout with ana too, but it was more so going about my daily life as a normal person would and just having to purge every time...and that was what I did....

In barely a year I went from 280lbs to 140lbs...I lost completely half of myself...like a whole person...and I am 5'9' so really 140 was quite healthy for me. Being heavy almost all my life the attention was wonderful but I never saw "me" at the time...just who I WAS...and no matter all the compliments...I was not happy...but so many people said I looked so thin..so small...so unhealthy....

And I met my (future) husband, and he came from a relationship with a girl who was ana, so I said I would stop, keep myself healthy.  I ate well, I worked out, I danced...everything to keep active...and I stayed thin for years and years.  I look back on those years and I am dumbfounded!!! In those years of my life I always said, "I am so fat. I am so huge!!" But looking back now, I was so thin, so pretty.  I want to find this girl again!

I maintained my weight for years and years.  I did gain about 20-25 more pounds before what I call was my "big demise"...but I still looked great...and had my natural beauty to go on....not to toot my own horn! But you never realize how striking and beautiful you are until you are not that anymore....so I did a little "ana" and a little "mia" through out those years...but I kept it at bay..only a few times a week and even less..

I thought I was cured...I was fine...I did not need it anymore.  I even spoke to my husband about it a few years before we were married.  I told him everything I went through...everything I really thought of myself (cos he got so sick of hearing, "How does this look?" "Do I look fat?" "Did I eat too much.  That wasn't bad, right??")

But somehow over those latter years I let myself slip a little. I was heavier than what I wanted when I married.. I hated all my wedding pictures, but I look back NOW and see how gorgeous I was,  And our first half a year of marriage was bad for me...bad on myself...feeling awful...feeling fat...even drinking some...and "mia" came back.

My husband caught me a few times.  At first I blamed it on drinking, but then he caught me in the actual moment and I was stone cold sober.  It was the worst moment in my life because he thought I was fine. I told him I would stop...but I didn't.  I had to be more careful, hide it more than what I already did.  To this day he is the only one that knows...and now whoever reads this here.   

So I was at rock bottom when I found out I was pregnant.  I was feeling nausea and threw up after eating because of the "mia" and even throwing up the few times I drank then.  And I was even discovered by mom and sister and said I was "sick."  They laughed and said, "No! I bet you're preggos!!" Sure enough I was.

I was heavier than I wanted.  I was more mentally screwed up than what I wanted to be, and here I was pregnant....and it was the ABSOLUTE best time of my life! I was so so healthy..."ana" and "mia" disappeared...they were gone...NEVER EVER even a thought.  And I worked out great...ate great.  I even lost weight the first few months and my son was as healthy as could be! I was so happy and optimistic that I would get back to my former self....and I DID!!

"Me at my lowest weight 138...and still thinking I was fat..."

For three months after my son's birth I was perfect....lost all the baby weight (only 27 lbs...right after I had him actually) and then 10lbs.  I was on the right track.  Then when my poor baby was barely 3 months old we were in a bad car accident.  Thank God he was fine.  I cried and screamed and said "Let him be fine...give me it all...any health problems...just let him be fine!"

And that was what I got.  It started slowly but I gained weight (and even lost my breast milk...no be to gross to you young girls..).  To cut a LONG story short, I am currently 20lbs heavier than what I was pregnant.  And now I have rediscovered the would of "mia" and "ana."  I never wanted to...but I have.

I have so many many joys (my son's first Christmas!) and so many priorities but this is taking priority right now and it is driving me insane to be back here.  I thought I was OK.  I thought I was going to be even better.  And now...now it's back to how I was ten years ago...back to trying to be well.  But even the most healthiest of salads I still want to get rid of it...and I do....and I just do not know where to go from here. 

Even the mia does not work like it once did.  I had tests on my sugar levels...thyroid...etc.  And it all came back normal..I am just stuck in this deep dark hole right now.  But I have my ray of sunshine...and I have everything to be happy for...and I cannot.  I am just eaten up by "ana" and "mia" again.

Long LONG story short...do not let "ana" or "mia" into your life.  They will never ever leave.  Now I am left trying to pick up the pieces again and find my "old" body.  And I laugh...cos I thought I was so soo SOOOO fat then!"

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ELIS'S STORY: "CHEW AND SPIT WAS PART OF MY EVERYDAY HABIT."

Elis and her Aunt when Elis first arrived in Ecuador

"Hello Medusa. I just want to start off by saying that thank God for people like you. You have made my treacherous recovery process easier for me.

My name is Elis and I am 17 years old. I don't want to say that I'm different from the rest of the girls with an eating disorder, because EVERYONE is different and just because someone falls into an eating disorder, does not mean that they are exactly the same person, because just like in every other case of anything, everyone is different. Of course, I share a common sense of knowledge and certain aspects with my fellow eating disorder sisters, but that does not mean that we are all the same person. So here's my story.

I guess you could say I always had weight problems. Ever since I was little girl, I was a little bit on the heavier side, but it never got to the point where you could say that I was obese. I still remember being in the fourth grade, when I wasn't even that chubby, and being made fun of on numerous occasions. I would go home and cry, too ashamed to go to someone.

All of my friends were thin, my mother was a fitness instructor, and my sister, well let's just say that she had and still has the body of a goddess, without even trying. Now that I think about it, I really should have gone to my mother or sister, because they would have been nothing but supportive, but I was just too ashamed.

The taunting wore off for a while, just an occasional asshole would say a slur, but I wouldn't really let it get to me. I loved food, but by no means would I ever binge, I just made wrong food choices when it came time to eat.

Freshman year of High school was a breakthrough for me. I had a mind set that I NEEDED to lose weight because I had weighed myself, and realized that I weighed 148 lbs. I was only 5'3, and my mother, who had 4 children and was 4 inches taller than me, weighed less. I NEEDED TO LOSE weight. So I began surely, but slowly. I started to eat less, choosing a salad with some form of protein instead of a Fried chicken sandwich. I also began to run. I eventually started to take off more and more calories. I eventually got down to eating 110 calories a day for a span of 1 month. I spiraled down to 114 lbs, and everyone said I looked great! I was SO satisfied with myself, but there was one thing I was sure of; I was HUNGRY!

So I began to chew and spit. I would eat food, mainly breads and carbs and chew them up, and spit them into a napkin. I would spend hours on end doing this. I would ''eat'' so much that my jaw began to hurt. And of course, I had the occasional slip up and would swallow food, of course, I would end up throwing it up. My passion is still to become a chef, and at the time I would cook up a storm and just chew and spit all day.

I remember one day, during the Summer going into Jr. year, I decided that I didn't want to spit something out. So I bought a french baguette and spread mayo all over it. I ate the WHOLE thing. I don't even like mayo! I work at a supermarket, and I had closed that day, so all of this occurred in the late hours of the night, early hours of the morning. I tried to throw it back up, but I couldn't. It wouldn't come back up. I was so FRUSTRATED! The self hate I endured was unbearable, I began to cry on the bathroom floor, and I hated myself for having allowed myself to gain most of my weight back. The words of some people haunted my thoughts ''Wow, you've gained weight.'' or ''Oh, I remember when you WERE skinny..''I lost a few pounds and was ready for Junior year. I had this in the bag.

The first couple of months were ''normal''. Chew and spit was part of my everyday habit. As much as I wanted to, I just couldn't eat normal, no matter how much I wanted to, I just didn't have it in me. I couldn't tell anyone that I had an eating disorder, I wasn't ''thin enough.'' I hated myself. I was obsessed with the thought of death, that's all I wanted. And I hated myself for thinking like this.

I had everything I wanted. My parents were still together, nothing had ever happened to me in my past, I had friends and family who loved me and supported me in every way possible, but I just hated myself. And I hated myself even more for hating myself. It was a never ending spiral into the depths of hell. So, instead of ending my eating disorder, I just grasped onto Ana more than ever.

I began to limit myself to 40 calories a day, and soon got down to 20 calories a day. I developed very strange OCDs and would run up and down the stairs numerous times in day for no reason whatsoever. I spiraled down to 102 lbs in less than a month. I would get called down to the office at school on numerous occasions. I would deny everything. I would say that everything was okay and blamed the weight loss on ''stress.''

I isolated myself from every single one of my many friends. My life was school, work, running, and me planning out my meal plans. That was all, and all I ever wanted. I was a skeleton. The stares in the hallways showed fear in complete strangers eyes. Every comment such as ''Why are you so thin?'' or "Your arms look like twigs!'' would just feed my eating disorder even more. The worse I looked to people, the happier I made Ana.

On March of 2010, I was sent for Spring break to my hometown of Ecuador. I was so excited, but at the same time concerned that I would lose control of my food. When I arrived, the look in my Grandfather's, aunt's, and older brother's face, made me want to cry. For the first time, I did not feel good about people's concerned eyes. I felt horrible. The look of fear was unbearable. Everyone was so concerned.

About 5 days into my vacation, I went to go visit my mom's cousin. Janine had once suffered from Anorexia as well. When she saw me, she played it off well, but I could see right through her. I knew she was very concerned. The next day, I went to a check-up (our insurance in the States had fallen through, and anything medical related is 10x cheaper in Ecuador). I was down to 90 lbs, at 5'4. I had a BMI of 16.0. The next day, my older brother told me we were going to another doctor. I believed him. When we arrived I saw a building. Standing outside were my grandfather and Janine. Above them read a sign that said ''The Center.'' I already knew what was coming.

I walked into the house-looking facility, not knowing what to expect. I was ambushed by people that I had never seen before, telling me that everything was going to be okay. I broke down. I was crying with no end. How could my parents tell me that I was going away for vacation when THIS was their intention?! I was furious, I was confused, I felt betrayed. But most of all, I was terrified. I knew that I would have to confront something that I lived with everyday. I would have to look it dead in the eye, something I had never done before. I was living with something that controlled my life, my every move, but I chose to pretend like it wasn't there, as if it were a ghost. I was terrified. I soon came to learn that my parents intention was not to send me off to get help, but when they discovered that I would be getting help, thanks to Janine, they couldn't disagree.

Recovery was brutal at first. I would cry in every therapy session. I was so stubborn. I soon grew to LOVE my nutritionist, Talia, and my therapist, Gaby. They did not try to force anything into my brain that I wasn't yet willing to accept. I grew to absolutely LOVE the other girls, they helped me not feel so alone. We all shared a common sense of loneliness, but when were together, those feelings disappeared.

Actually, one of the girls has written here, and her story was published, her name is May, and I am the one who sent the poem to her. We all grew so close together it was amazing. They made my recovery so much easier. I even got a tattoo with Romy, one of my best friends from The Center. She accompanied me while I got ''Dum Vita est, spes es'' tatted on my back. Next to it is the eating disorder awareness symbol. Its translation is ''While there's life, there's hope.''

My family literally saved me. If it weren't for them, then I don't know what I would have done. My mother came to a different country, leaving her job and family, for 3 months just to support me. Janine, well I have no words to say what she means to me. She literally saved my life, if it weren't for her, I don't know where I would be right now.

My aunt opened her doors for me the last 2 months that I was in Ecuador, despite my rebellion to stay with her. My older sister is amazing. She helped pay a lot of my recovery and was always so loving and supporting, despite how difficult it was for her to understand my eating disorder. My father and younger brother was also supportive every way possible, I love them to death! My grandfather was supportive in every way possible, financially, emotionally. He was my right hand man the whole 6 months.

And last but not least my older brother, oh my older brother. I can honestly say that every time I think of him, I tear up. Him and I have had such a strong bond ever since I was born, despite the 13 year age difference. He allowed me to stay in his home for the first 4 months that I was there, and would have loved to have me stay in his home the whole time, but that could not be possible. I love him more than anyone else in this world.

A trigger for me to go home was when I realized that I was missing out on life. This eating disorder had consumed my whole high school life and I refused to let in take over my senior year. Everyone's facebook status was about going into senior year. I was desperate to go home. Soon enough, 1 month into school, I came back to Florida. Saying goodbye was the among the most difficult things that I had ever had to do. I had grown to love my family in Ecuador more than words could describe. I didn't think that was possible, but I was proven wrong.

I have now been back for about 4 months, and I can honestly say that I still feel a hole inside of me. One hole being those loved ones of mine in Ecuador, and the other hole being that inner battle. I still don't love myself, and at times, I can say that I hate myself. But I can come to terms with myself.

I don't know if I'll ever come to terms with my body, nor food, but right now I feel that I'm at the point where I can accept myself, just for who I am. I am an aspiring nutritionist, to help others, and to help myself. I hope my story will help someone over come their eating disorder in some way. Just love yourself."

For more information on the dangers of chewing and spitting, please click this link:

THE SECRET OBSESSION: CHEWING AND SPITTING...

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TO ALL WHO HAVE SUBMITTED THEIR STORIES OR EMAILED ME...

...AND HAVEN'T RECEIVED A RESPONSE YET:

I haven't run away and joined the circus, though I'm tempted :)

I'm still wading through hundreds of emails and stories you have sent me, so will again ask for your patience.  I hope to be able to respond to everyone and post your stories very soon.

Link to picture:
La Clique

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AMANDA'S STORY: "MY DREAMS WERE THE ONE PLACE WHERE I COULD EAT AS MUCH AS I PLEASED AND NOT GAIN A SINGLE OUNCE..."

"Writer. I'm a writer by profession. A submission should be judged, not only on how meaty it is, but by how well it is phrased, and if it is marketable.

This is what I live with. This is what I've been raised to do. I freelance and am an English major who aspires to become an English professor. What I do doesn't directly put me in the public eye. But I have to "score" my submissions in terms of how effective they are; how much money I (might) make off of them. That is not to say that writing is not fulfilling and that it is not fun. I wouldn't do it if I got no enjoyment out of it. And, at the end of the day, if I do get a rejection letter, I try again. And again. And again. Like any performer, you need thick skin. It isn't easy to write, and it's harder to put your piece, your "baby", in the hands of professionals, who might not always be as skilled as you are, but who have more clout.

If you can find it in yourself to keep submitting, even if it means bypassing professional outlets, you just might be heard. I didn't always have that luxury. I don't tell others that one of the first fictional stories I remember reading concerned the dangers of overeating. Or that the first short story that ever left an impact on me was about how people have no ownership over their bodies in a superficial society.

But I do tell them that I have Crohn's Disease, that I have been living with it since I was seven, that I almost had to experience childhood wearing a colostomy bag, and that I experienced almost ten years of remission, only to experience another flare up at seventeen, suspiciously around the time that I started "dieting". And by "dieting", I mean learning to live on a steady diet of close to nothing.. I couldn't control my fate as a budding writer. I wished I didn't have to write at all. So I preoccupied myself with calories, carbs, and fitness. When I wasn't working out, I was cooking. And when I wasn't cooking, I was sleeping. I would dream that I was sleeping in a bed of chocolate. My dreams were the one place where I could eat as much as I pleased and not gain a single ounce.

The only happiness was in my dreams. My mother, frustrated at my refusal to eat more than 800 calories a day, miss a workout, or take fewer than 20 laxatives at a sitting, took me to an eating disorder clinic. I given the label "EDNOS", and shoved away as though I had become degenerate.

I spared no calorie, and gained every ounce back. I forced myself to love my body. It was either that or the clinic. And the clinic was not an option.

I paid a price for my disordered eating anyway. In January 2010, I had one third of my large intestine removed. Surgeons said that the piece had begun falling apart inside my body.. I had to take a medical leave for my second semester of college. As a result, I will graduate later than most of my peers. I have missed out on most of the hallmarks of a typical adolescence, such as dating, and searching for a job, because that meant I might have to eat ice cream.

I have told this story before, and I usually frame it in a happier tone. I frame it differently here, not for pity or to see if I can make someone cry. I do it to show that eating disorders and exercise addiction have real consequences. If you are suffering or know someone who is suffering from an eating disorder, get help today. Mistreat your body and it may mistreat you."

Link to photo:

Joan Crawford in Grand Hotel:  http://www.life.com/image/3170022/in-gallery/42822#index/5

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