To the best friend of the girl with an eating disorder,

I didn't know. You were my best friend, but I didn't know.

We had been best friends since junior high, with silly fights over crushes on the same boys and who got invited to sleepovers being the worst our friendship had faced. But then when the summer before high school began, there was a shift -- it wasn't sudden, really, but it was one that had been in the works for years, a darkness waiting, skulking in the recesses of my mind.

That was the summer of the onset of my eating disorder.

That was the summer my life would change forever, and no one knew.

We started high school normally, being the dynamic duo. We were inseparable, no you without me or me without you, doing everything together. Good Lord, we even made our schedules match, making sure we wouldn't have to face classes alone (I seriously don't know how we managed to go to different colleges).

But then the change I had felt long before became evident to everyone as I not only lost an undeniably scary amount of weight, but I began to lose myself too. My whole world became solely focused on calories, on weight, on finally being thin, thinking finally I would be worth something, anything. My world shrank, people falling away, until it was only me.

Or so I thought.

I would walk by you, laughing and chatting about nothing, not really feeling anything, not caring about anything. I was becoming numb to the world because if I allowed myself to feel, the darkness, the perceived loneliness, the depression and sense of unworthiness would consume me, would crush me.

I was a shadow of my former self, my smile no longer anything but a practiced motion, my words holding no life, my desire for relationship no longer existent. And I mourned for my former self, believing she was fully gone, sad for myself that I would never be that girl again -- the happy, outgoing, full of life girl was gone. All I saw was my darkness, my haunting shadows.

I never knew what it did to you.

But you lost your best friend that summer too.

You watched me deteriorate, physically and emotionally becoming a skeleton, pushing you away the entire time. We would fight, tensions growing and growing as my disease worsened. You knew I couldn't help it, you said, so you stayed.

You stayed through the hurt of me not caring the way I should have, the loneliness of having the ghost of your best friend walk beside you, slowly fading into herself and not noticing the things you were facing, too. You were my confidant, letting me pour out myself to you without any support from me in return, because you knew I had nothing left to give. You fought for me when I couldn’t, fending off those who made vicious comments, accusing me of just not eating for attention, who made inane remarks about how nice it must be to be so skinny.

And then you did the hardest thing of it all: you told me to go.

You sat with me in that cold English classroom, two 15 year olds who had barely experienced anything, who had never ventured out of our small hometown, who had never gone to a high school dance or had our first kisses, who had barely begun to live. You sat there with me, looking me straight in the eye, refusing to let me break your gaze, and told me I had to go. I had to, you said, or I would never get to experience those things -- or anything else for that matter -- because if this continued, I was going to die. No more sugar coating, no more dancing around the subject. You had already lost most of me, not recognizing the empty frame, the colorless, dull girl in front of you, but you could not, you would not lose me entirely. I was still in there somewhere, you said, and you were not about to let me go.

You saved me. Right then and there, I decided to get help, to begin recovery. You helped me choose life.

But the thing is, you didn’t stop there. As if that weren’t enough, you continued to be there, to support me, to help me. Of course our friendship wasn’t perfect, and with something like my illness, it faced a lot more strain than most friendships ever do.

But when I came back from inpatient treatment, and everyone else thought all was well again -- I looked normal, so I must be completely recovered, right? -- you stood by me as I tried to explain that this wasn’t just a diet gone wrong, that I didn’t choose this, but that eating disorders are mental illnesses and recovery was going to be a lifelong battle, the struggles coming and going, but that it was possible.

You stood by me as I learned to be this new version of myself, this girl who had to be more careful, who not only had to follow meal plans and exercise restrictions, but who didn’t know how to really be in relationship with anyone but her eating disorder. You comforted me through my heart ache as I pushed away a boy who treated me like a queen because it terrified me -- and my eating disorder -- that he saw me like you did, seeing my flaws, my insecurities, my weird quirks, and who valued me for who I was, illness and all. You loved me through everything, our friendship almost breaking completely at times, but somehow coming back stronger as we worked through it.

No one gave recognition to what you did; no one really saw or noticed, not even me. You stuck by me, pushing me and encouraging me, fighting with me and for me, staying when most adults, much less teenagers, would have given up long before.

I am the one with the eating disorder, but you fought the fight -- you still do -- with me.

You are a fighter -- strong and caring, a beautiful force not to be reckoned with.

You are my best friend, the best friend of a girl with an eating disorder, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am to have had you through the years.

And sorry, but you aren’t getting rid of me any time soon -- get ready for many more years, many more adventures, many more life-filled moments as the blonde and brunette best friends!

Love,

Me