I've always had issues with body image. When I was 12, I was the young Italian girl with hairy arms, and would dedicate 45 minutes every two weeks to bleaching them. During puberty, my nose seemed to grow faster than the rest of me, until one day I was certain I resembled a bird more than a person. In middle school, I wouldn't be able to stretch in class without someone laughing at my ribs, which are slightly misshapen but apparently make me look like I have “four boobs.”

Poor body image is rarely chalked up to disliking one or two parts of yourself but disliking the whole body. Often, growing teens are told that they won’t always like every single thing about themselves, but they will soon learn to love their flaws. There are some that are fortunate to find this inner peace, but there are others, like myself, that have these dislikes snowball into something greater than what can be controlled.

I was 15 when I first started counting calories. It started after a bad breakup. I was so depressed that I had lost my appetite, and the pounds dropped. I was never really a chubby teen, so when I lost weight, it showed. Regaining my appetite meant switching to small portions and specific foods, partially because it was all I could handle, and partially because, somewhere in my bout of depression, looking in the mirror got easier. I didn't even notice when minimal appetite turned into reading food labels, but everyone else seemed to.

I brushed off my family’s comments about my thin physique as a stereotypical Italian pasta-is-a-food-group kind of thing. My new boyfriend thought I looked good, and when I looked in the mirror, I thought I did too — almost. At 5’ 4”, 103 pounds was not normal, but I wanted it to be. Back then, I wanted to be curvy but svelte, but how could I have my perfect figure when I couldn’t even tell that the “fat” I pinched while staring at my reflection at 2 a.m. was just skin clinging onto my protruding bones.

My eating disorder was much more than having a flat stomach. It was a way to have complete control over something in my ordinarily unstable life. I developed anxiety the older I got, which made everything else seem that much more chaotic. I battled depression for years, and had very few people to confide in.

With food, I could choose what went into my body. I could say yes or no to something, and it would be completely my choice. I thought I was in control, but I was spiraling into something that was controlling me.

I was anorexic until I was 17; I am 21 now. I can say that the years have made me well again, but there are still times when it’s hard. I’m afraid to go to the gym sometimes because I don’t want to become obsessed again, and I’m angry with myself when I don’t. I still occasionally count calories, and from time to time I avoid my full length mirror, but I am not the same girl. Despite all of these lows, I’ve found happiness in my own skin.

Yoga has been my saving grace, as it helped me develop the strong body I feel best in. I eat three meals a day with snacks in between, all of healthy portion size with healthy ingredients. I don’t know what I weigh this week, and I don’t particularly care. For now, my energy is spent on developing myself; working toward becoming a better person, developing my skills in my craft and becoming confident in myself in a chaotic world.

This is not a story asking for pity or comfort; this is a call to action. Thousands of people struggle with eating disorders, and despite what the media may tell you, it is not a fad diet, it is not a phase and it is definitely not people just wanting to be skinny. It is a fight for control in the world, and it’s important to remember that the chaos of the world is not limited to the job market, economy or presidential race. It could be a storm of self-doubt, self-loathing and pain, hidden just beneath someone’s skin.

If you or someone you love is suffering form an eating disorder, you are not alone, and there are a multitude of networks waiting for you.