At the beginning of my sophomore year of high school I was your typical 15 year old, I made all As, I back talked to my parents, I hung out with friends and I had a boyfriend. To everyone on the outside, and to myself for a long time, I seemed… normal. Little did I know that behind the typical fifteen year old face was a raging battle with manic depression, anxiety, self harm, and a slow development of an eating disorder.
I'd say my eating disorder began the summer before sophomore year. I quit athletics and lost a family member,which took a toll on me. I wasn't skinny and cute and athletic like my mom wanted in her daughter. She signed me up for a gym membership and scrutinized everything I ate or drank. At first I didn't comply because, "Hey, it's my body". Then she started using scare tactics. I would die early, I wouldn't have friends, my boyfriend would leave me, and so on. By October it hit me. I believed her, I 100% believed that I would be nothing if I wasn't skinny. I became more depressed, and my life starting to fell pointless. I started to self harm, (No, not slitting my wrists.) by scratching myself, pulling out hair during fits of rage, and burning myself with matches. I went from eating like a typical high schooler to barely 500 calories a day, and I learned how to trick my body into being full and satisfied without eating calories. I learned how to purge no matter where I was.
No matter what i still wasn't skinny enough.
My senior year of high school I knew I had fallen down l, and quite frankly if I didn't get help I was going to die.
I told my doctor in an appointment without my mom about my issues and she immediately sent me to a therapist for “ anxiety “ as she told my mother and it helped. I started in October and through lots and ups and downs by may I was in full blown recovery. Then July of 2015 hit, my relationship turned abusive, my best friend died. I had no hope. I blamed myself for it all. He wouldn't have hit me if I was pretty and skinny. She wouldn't have died if I wasn't a horrible friend. And back came Edna (the name I gave my eating disorder). She came back ready to win, and brought her friends depression and anxiety as well. And they almost won. They almost won. But see, that almost is what matter, almost, but they didn't.
I walked back to my therapist June of 2016 and that's where I am twice a week, and I allow my life to revolve around recovery. My family doesn't have much clue to the extent of the issues, but they support me in recovery. My friends have been my rocks and push me to be confident and happy every day. I thank God for giving me strength. I've learned I’m not perfect, or anywhere near it. But damn it, I'm good enough the way I am.
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