Chances are, you've encountered a toxic person in your life. Some of us are unfortunate enough to have this toxic person as a close friend, family member, or even a significant other. Breaking free of the thoughts and ideas that that toxic person puts in your brain can be hard. Over time, you realize that you've internalized every untrue thing they ever said about you. Somewhere in the relationship you went from a human being with natural born rights to a worthless slave, living only to make that toxic person give you small praise.

Now imagine that that toxic person lives inside your head, and speaks with your voice, so persuasively that you believe to your very core that those thoughts are your own.

My toxic voice was named Ed. And he and I shared my brain for almost every second of my 21 years on this earth.

I was as young as 2 when I decided that an entire meal was ruined if one item on my plate touched another. If so much as a pea rolled across my plate, the entire plate was contaminated.

I was 6 when I noticed that I could only eat candies and bites of food in certain numbers. I didn't know why, it just felt right to me. I could also only eat certain colored candies and snacks when paired with other colors. All fruits and berries had to be in equally sized pieces.

I was only 8 the first time I decided to "go for a run" to calm down. I told myself that my parents screaming at each other was my fault. Surely they would stop if I could be "enough" and I had to exercise to be "good enough." I sustained growth plate injuries from overuse, but continued to run every single day in an effort to be the best at the sports I loved and make them proud.

At 9, I remember the daily occurrence of going into the bathroom with my mom and standing in front of the mirror admiring the abs that I worked so hard for. I told myself that if I could be as strong and fit as her, I would stay her perfect daughter.

At 11, I hit a growth spurt, I remember agonizing in front of the mirror as my lifelong six pack disappeared, and I begged God to stop allowing my body to approach womanhood. Developing breasts was fine with me, but having curved hips? Absolutely not. Every time I passed the bathroom mirror, I would lock the door and do burpees, sit-ups, crunches, and push-ups, desperate to reverse the natural effects of aging on my body.

At 12, I began to count my calories. My soccer coach lectured me about my constant pre practice snack of a bag of double chocolate chip cookies. He encouraged fruit and lean protein. I began to wonder if that was all a dedicated athlete would eat.

At 14, I began to throw up when I thought about what I had eaten that day. It was the oddest thing, purely through the power of thought, everything I'd eaten would come back up. It only happened for about a month before I went to therapy, but three weeks into therapy, it stopped and I deemed myself "problem free," and stopped going back to see my therapist.

At 15, I found it normal that I would go months without a period during conditioning season. Surely every dedicated athlete loses their period, and who wants to deal with cramps and bloating and nausea anyways?

At 17, my boyfriend told me I was fat, and I believed him.

At 18, I got the wise idea to download a "fitness app" on my phone. What began as a simple way to avoid the freshman fifteen, became an obsessive and extreme behavior. Every single sip or nibble of food and drink went into my calorie counter. I exercised more and more to make the amount of calories I had consumed negative to my exercise each day. Soon my life revolved around how many hours of cardio I could do and the few foods I was allowed to eat. The voice in my head screamed at me to run harder, to eat less, to stand in front of the mirror in my dorm and pinch my skin until my cheeks burned with shame at my "fat". When I laid awake at night listening to the sound of my stomach growling, and sobbing as it had reached a physical pain, I would clutch my ribs. Ed would tell me that my body's natural response to hunger was just "weakness" and "lack of willpower". Friends expressed concern and I ignored them, how could someone as "fat" as me have an eating disorder? Did they not see my (imaginary) rolls? Did they not see that half cup of greek yogurt I had stuffed my face with in a moment of weakness? I told myself that they were "jealous of my self control."

At 18, I attempted suicide. The voice in my head had gotten so strong and so loud and all I cared about was breaking free. But the prison was my own mind, and breaking free meant facing my fears.

At 19, I went to treatment. It was long and uphill. I busted my butt every day, but stayed suicidal, began self-harming, screamed, and cried, and begged, and pleaded.

At 20, something clicked, and I turned my life around. Food slowly became a positive thing, exercise became about strengthening my body, weight became irrelevant to me, and the thoughts became whispers that I could roll my eyes at and move along.

And at 21, I have not restricted, self harmed, behaved aggressively, over-exercised, or hated myself one day since my birthday five months ago. I cope with stressors without self-destructing and more often than not I would describe myself as "happy", something I always longed to be.

My eating disorder was not glamorous, it was not for attention, and it was not a choice. It was hell. Literal internal purgatory. It is a fate I would not wish on my worst enemy, but it is something that you can come back from.

Treatment sucks. Recovery is hard. It is a constant work in progress.

Those are true statements, but the one that rings truest of all is that there is no better life than a life free of Ed.

I am still fighting my disorder, but I will never give up, and neither should you.

This year for NEDAwareness week, the theme is "it's time to talk about it." So please, do that. Tell your friends and family if you're worried about them. Tell someone if you're worried about yourself. Eating Disorders are embarrassing to have, but they are not embarrassing to recover from.

You're eating disorder is not a life sentence, and neither is your loved one's.

If in doubt, take three minutes out of your day to take the screening test on the NEDA website.

http://nedawareness.org/get-screened

Resources are available to you--and you are not alone! You can do this, and you will, if you just don't give up!