At age 11, I already started to hear things like, "You look fat", "You should wear make-up", and other comments that destroyed my self-esteem. I started to study my classmates and neighbors, and I began to envy their looks, body shape, and their acceptance of their appearance. Adolescence had begun. I despised my body more and more everyday, even though my doctor claimed that I was slightly underweight for my age. Insecurity became a burden I carried with me everywhere and in everything I did, but I didn't know how to act upon it. Diets sounded unsatisfying, exercising seemed to not be working, and choosing an eating disorder seemed just wrong to me.
One day at lunch, a friend of mine didn't grab any food. She claimed to not be hungry. The next day, she did it again. On the third day, I joined her and didn't grab any lunch either. I didn't have an appetite even though I didn't eat breakfast either. By the end of the month, my friend and I skipped eating and just played football for the half hour given for lunch. It became a habit, then a daily routine. Dinner and a snack after school became my only meals. I didn't think much of it. I hadn't consciously thought that by not eating i would get skinnier, or starving myself would give me some form of self-esteem. I did realize that I was happier and more accepting of myself, but I wasn't quite sure why. I didn't look into it, maybe in fear of what the obvious answer was, instead I just kept my daily routines and everything about me the same. While we were learning about eating disorders in health class, I wasn't affected. I didn't feel guilty. I felt sorry for those who decided to starve themselves, apparently unaware I was doing the same. It somewhat disgusted me that the victim could allow themselves to hurt their body in order to fit it, to be happy. I went through the rest of the school year not eating breakfast and lunch.
When summer came along, my mom found it odd and unhealthy I never wanted to eat. I kept reassuring her that I was simply just not hungry. I would eat small amounts to please her when she was home for lunch, and I would stay in my room and act as though I was asleep so she could not force me to eat breakfast. I found myself lying to her when she came home from work, claiming I ate a sandwich for lunch or something she would not be able to trace for dishes. Eating became something I didn't like to do.
Track season rolled around, and I still refused to eat days of meets. I was still put in relays, and remained one of the better runners. I accepted that I wasn't the best because I just wasn't meant to be. One Saturday morning, I woke up and felt sudden pain in my body. The previous night I only ate a PB&J sandwich. Everytime I tried to get up, I would collapse and feel dizzy. I couldn't stand. I didn't have the energy. The pain grew more and more. I was stuck in my room. Trapped. I couldn't call for my mom, or she would know I hadn't eaten the night before. So I called my sister, in hopes she wouldn't ask questions. She brought me cereal probably thinking I was just too lazy to get up. It was then I realized something was wrong, but then the thought was put away. I still kept skipping meals even though my life was better. I was in a happy relationship, I made up with both of my best friends, and my family at home became more tolerable. In health class we took longer talking about anorexia than the year before and that was when I realized I had a problem. My friends previously would tell me something is wrong, I never eat. I refused to believe them. I was in denial, because I always told myself I could never do that to myself. The more we discussed it in class, the more I felt guilty. I felt like everyone new my guilty deep dark secret. I was scared. I was happy, and I wanted to act like it. I wanted to stop starving myself. Life was good, but I knew it would be better if I would eat regularly and learn to accept my body. I tried to get myself to eat lunch, but I found myself feeling horrible for eating, or simply unable to take more than a few bites without feeling full. My boyfriend(later will be known as Mr. Lincoln) and I had become serious. We were best friends before we dated, I told him everything. Every day he went out of his way to walk me home, and every day guilt rose inside me for keeping this from him. When I finally told him, he told me he already knew and was disappointed it took so long for me to tell him and that I had told my closest guy friend first. He told me he was there for me and I need to stop, because he thinks I'm beautiful and perfect the way I was. He became my rehab. He never failed to make me feel beautiful.
Paradise didn't last forever. A month later, we started to fight. He was the jealous type, and I had too many guy friends who flirted with me. I couldn't understand why he couldn't just look past it because it was him I loved. Our fights became unbearable, and we were just hurting each other crying ourselves to sleep. One summer day, we talked and thought it was best we break up. Right away, I regretted it. I wanted to take it all back, but he seemed to be content. We remained best friends, but found that we still loved each other. He found out he was moving, and my heart sank and I pushed him away. My rehab was over, and I needed control. I began to starve myself once more. We started talking again, and I no longer showed my feelings for him. I kept myself in the friend zone, and helped him be happy with other girls. I tried all summer to get over him. I cried every night. The beauty he made me feel was long gone. My old friends insecurity and low self-esteem came back and swore to stay forever, unlike my ex-boyfriend and old best friends.
Fall came once more, and I was still crying myself to sleep. My friends seemed to have been drifting away from me. All of my close friends who I confided in seemed to be busy. I set my mind to think that I was on my own. I hided my feelings. I shut out anyone who tried to get on a personal level with me. I built high walls over and over again when people kept trying to tear them down. I wanted to run away. I wanted kill myself. I became depressed. The sun never seemed to shine bright enough. My friends kept informing that skipping meals would make me gain weight. I never wanted to listen. I didn't want to eat. I felt unworthy to eat. I felt impure and ugly. I deserved to feel the pain of hunger, of starvation. I was weak though, I ate when I just couldn't handle it. I hated myself. I wanted to be someone else. I wanted to start somewhere new. When I was accepted to the IB program at a high school my classmates weren't likely to go to, I wanted to go. I wanted to get away. I felt isolated where I was.
In February, I auditioned to be in a musical at the high school where all my classmates were planning to attend. I made it. Everyday, I went to rehearsal with a few classmates and met high school students. That month of rehearsals was the most fun and exciting thing I had experienced. I felt a part of the school. I felt like somebody. I felt wanted. I loved it so much. With tears and tribulation, I switched high schools. I was now enrolled with my fellow classmates. The world seemed brighter. Track season came and I ate lunch for my best performance, and I could feel the improvement. I went to districts for all my events. I started eating lunch more often. I was still insecure about my body, but I had learned to accept it.
I'm not quite sure what finally clicked in my head that semester, but I got myself to eat. I will never really understand what my motivation was. I like to believe that I finally realized how much people cared about me, that I was never really alone, that keeping myself in the dark didn't make me stronger. I changed the way I dealt with my problems. A friend of mine showed me different way that music had helped her through good and bad times. She started writing songs when she was in elementary. I tried it, and found it so relieving. Piano became my therapy. On top of that, my dearest, closest friend of 5 years help me realize to change my set of mind. Changing my set of mind help me enjoy life just that much more. Every once in awhile, I will have the urge to skip a meal to punish myself, and I can't deny that I do give in sometimes, but I'm proud to admit that I have fought the urge. I may not think I am beautiful, or feel like it, but I do accept myself. I still believe in room for improvement, but not at the cost of my health or well-being. I have learned to keep my head held high, and my hunger satisfied. Starving myself will always stay in my past, but that doesn't mean it's not a part of my future, too.
She then saw the light at the end of tunnel and knew she just had to sing through the darkness, because in the end she knew it would be alright.
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