As a 16-year-old girl, I had a friend; her name was Mia. She said it was short for Bulimia, and that she would help me. She said she would help me feel better about myself, and that she would help me get more friends -- but she lied. All she gave me was sore throats, anxiety and loss of control. I don't know why I trusted her. I never really knew her; all I saw was the promise of a better body, one like hers. Eventually, I unfriended her; it was time to let her go.
After I told my family about Mia, they seemed confused, because I hid it pretty well, but they helped me; they embraced me. I got the help I needed, but I still had days when I wanted to run to the bathroom after I ate. Sometimes I gave in and visited her again; sometimes, I fell back into the depression hole. Sometimes, she would call when I was home alone, inviting me to binge, and then visit her. But I had to fight, for myself, and for the other little girl out there who looks in the mirror and is disgusted at what she sees.
I still have bad days, but I also have days that are filled with joy and laughter. I had to learn to love myself. I had to break free and learn that my eating disorder did not define who I was. I'm not sick or fat. I am a daughter, a friend, a hard worker, I am loved more than I will ever know. And some day I will be a mother, a nurse, a wife and I will always be beautiful and loved.
"You are altogether beautiful, my love; there is no flaw in you." Song of Solomon 4:7
