This is part one of a three part series about my personal eating disorder story as well a look into the reality of a full blown eating disorder, dirt and all.

I will start by disclaiming that every eating disorder is different and every person with an eating disorder has a different reflection and definition of it. So, I am not, by any means generalizing myself as a prototype, for lack of a better word, for everyone who has fallen into the grasp of a life-sucking eat disorder. I am simply sharing the blunt reality of life with an ED. I should also disclaim that there is triggering content and what I describe is straightforward and graphic, in some nature. But my goal here is to expose the demon that is an ED, kill the stigma, to educate and show people the truth behind this brutal disease.

My eating disorder doesn't have a specific name, per se. (i.e. I was never formal diagnosed with Anorexia, Bulimia or EDNS). Probably because I never saw a psychologist long enough to get diagnosed. But, I did it all. I would restrict and starve myself, I would throw up, I would binge, I would start to chew then spit food out, I would take laxatives and dietary supplements, I would exercise until I physically couldn't anymore. I could go on and on about the crazy things I would do just to lose weight. But let's rewind to the beginning:

I can't say for sure when my disordered eating started - to be honest, I always struggled with food. I never had that innate ability to listen to my body - I would eat until I was full, but still want more and a lot of the time I would always want to eat, regardless if I were actually hungry. But, for many years, that's all 'it' really was - a lack of intuitive eating skills. Something many people take for granted, simply because we are born, for the most part, with the ability to listen to our bodies hunger ques.

I'd say my disordered eating started in high school. I was very invested into my cross country and track career. But, I was always a little slower than I wanted to be. All the fast girls were skinny. I wanted to be fast, so I figured I had to be skinny. I started dieting and exercising more - running a little extra, doing ab workouts twice a day. But that was the extent to my actions, and they came across quite harmless from an outsider prospecive. But I became very spiteful of myself over my high school years, and by the time I graduated high school, I didn't like my body.

College, oh boy. Freshman year started the downward spiral. The freshman 15 was probably my biggest fear (and later became a reality). I could not stand the idea of gaining weight, especially considering I was trying to loss weight. My competitive running career ended, but I think I ran more miles that first year of college than I did in two years of high school. I would run for hours. I would push myself as far as I could go - running between 4 -15 miles a day. But only to go to my room or the dinning hall and binge on as much as I could. I mean, I could down a lot of food - a giant burrito, a whole bag of chips, a couple candy bars, just in one sitting. I would feel so gross and guilty, and this would happen almost everyday. And by the end of freshman year, I had gained about 20 pounds.

(June 2015 - the summer after freshman year)

But one day, I ate so much that I threw up. I found I was empty afterwards, which was a refreshing feeling. I ate so much food, but didn't have to deal with the guilt, calories, stomach ache and self-hate afterwords. I thought, "this is a way to finally lose the weight." And, it seemed justified - I was eating too much anyway, so I was getting rid of the binge problem. Little did I know at the time, I was creating a whole new slew of problems.

That summer consisted of excessive exercising and the occasional binge and new found purge. But sophomore year handed me a new set of standards for myself and the freedom to do so. More and more I would binge and purge. These episodes started replacing meals, and I would starve myself between. I remember I went a whole 9 days without eating more than a granola bar a day. But eventually I couldn't go any longer and started eating and throwing up again - walking to the store and buying all the food I wanted to eat, but would never allow myself unless I could throw it up - chips, cookies, french fries, chicken nuggets, pasta, ice cream etc.

Now, I lived with 4 other girls that year and we all shared a bathroom. I had to become deceptive. They were definitely suspicious, but no one ever wants to assume and approach a person about these things. Not to mention I made myself completely unapproachable. I learned their schedules and knew when I had the apartment to myself. If not I would lock myself in my room and eat as much as I could, then throw it up in a bag or go and "shower" and throw it all up in there. I would go to a drive-through and get a ton of food and find an empty parking lot to eat it all, then throw it up in the bushes. I started taking laxatives to make up for what I couldn't throw up. This became a daily thing. My life was scheduled around when I could binge and purge again. I lost 30 lbs that semester.

This pattern continued the rest of my sophomore year and that summer. Even when my roommates found out, my parents were told, I started seeing a therapist and even the my university got word, I persisted on. I got sneakier, better at covering up and more resistant to letting people into my life. It did get harder to hide, I started to get heart palpitations, I would faint, I would sleep for ridiculous amounts of time, I skipped work and class, I began self harming. I didn't care that I was ruining my health, my grades or my relationships. All I could think about was getting thinner in hopes to hate myself a little less.

My junior year, I had a room and bathroom to myself and my habits continued and worsened. I would do what was necessary to pass classes and not get fired, but the rest of my time an effort was dedicated to my ED. Counting calories and rib bones, checking for a thigh gap and a concave stomach - I was a walking, talking eating disorder. I lost another 25 lbs that semester, reaching my lowest weight of 115 lbs that November. I never became severely underweight, but it was utterly clear there was something wrong. My parents were on edge, my boss even questioned me, I was painfully depressed and exhausted, physically and mentally.

(November 2016 - my lowest weight)

I contemplated my life. Many times. I would think of all the ways I could end it, I even developed a plan to commit suicide. I never did. But it is something that, to this day, still haunts me. At the time, I knew I didn't want to die. I just didn't want to keep living the way I was.

So, not too long after I reached my lowest weight (and point), I decided to make a serious effort at recovery. I knew it would be hard, but I knew I was digging a grave if I kept doing these things to myself.

to be continued... (part 2)