Dear Me,
I know that you are in pain. Trust me, I know.
I know that you look in the mirror and you cry because all that you see are imperfections. I know that you look at the "skinny girls" at school with jealousy and spite because you just want to look like them. You spend hours on the internet searching for "quick ways to lose weight." I know that you want to lose just a few pounds, so you start to exercise more and restrict your diet. You lose a few pounds and people start to notice and comment on "how skinny you look." I know that you reached your original goal weight. I wish you had stopped there.
You become addicted. You become obsessed. You spiraled out of control.
I know that you weigh yourself multiple times a day, never satisfied with the number on the scale, even when you start to lose pounds every week. I know that you live by a strict set of rules, that the voice in your head insists that you follow, or else you will get fat. I know that you don't allow yourself to watch TV without doing core exercises during commercial breaks because to just sit down and not burn calories is not allowed. You wait till everyone in the house goes to bed so you can do exercises without the family hearing you. You go to soccer practice for two hours, you run two or three miles, you run up and down the stairs multiple times a day, you do core while watching tv, you do YouTube cardio videos after practice, and you even make sure to tap your foot up and down in class so you can burn calories even while sitting in a desk. I know that calories become the enemy. I know that you eat less and less each day. You know the number of calories in practically every single food found in grocery stores and restaurants since you spend your free time looking up the calories in meals to determine what is safe to eat and what is not. I know that eventually you barely eat at all.
You begin to feel hollow. You still feel fat. You know that you may die. You don't care.
I know that you are forced into treatment. I know that you hate it at first. I know that the dietician's requests make the voice in your head scream. I know the therapist makes you talk about your struggles, that you rather keep to yourself. I know that mealtimes are the worst and you are forced to eat everything the voices say you're not supposed to. I know that you cry every day when you notice your skeleton frame start to fill out more and more. You sit in front of the mirror and sob because your worst fear comes true, you gained weight. I know how hard this is for you, trust me.
You prevailed. You survived. You overcame anorexia.
I know that you didn't celebrate this amazing accomplishment. You chose to bury everything that you had just overcame. You deleted every picture of you during that time. You refused to acknowledge that part of your story. You were ashamed and embarrassed, simply, because you had struggled. You didn't admit to anyone that you had suffered from anorexia until you were eighteen, five years after you recovered. You listened to the unspoken words of society, saying that mental health is not the same as physical health. I know that you had no problem telling people about the concussion you had or the eye problem that left you seeing double, yet you wouldn't dare admit to suffering from anorexia.
You grew up. You began to learn how the world works.
I know that now, five years later, you are not afraid to admit that you have struggled with mental health. You know now that most people have. I know that you still don't have a perfect body image, but you are happy. I know that you look in the mirror and you no longer cry. You see the strong legs that allow you to run, your curly frizzy hair that perfectly matches your personality, and the smile that reminds you why life is worth living.
Sincerely,
A healthier and happier You
