They don’t know. They don’t see. They don’t understand that I used to have an eating disorder.

It all started in the car one day, it was clear, sunny and vibrant. I gathered myself up to the bulging passenger seat in front of me, my mother in the driver’s seat, cruising down 29. She stops to take a quick glance at me, stating “you have a double chin.” Now what might have seemed like a simple, insignificant comment, spiraled into me thinking otherwise. I couldn’t stop. I woke up every morning and the first motion I would make would be in front of my mirror. It consumed me, like a flesh eating virus. “I’m fat” I would say to myself, as I slowly let my fingers grasp my belly. I raised my arms and jiggled them quickly, completely unsatisfied with my appearance. Magazines and the internet never helped, exposing skinny women like Angelina Jolie, Jennifer Anniston and Paris Hilton. Subheads that read “How to Lose Ten Pounds in Five Days” was just one of the many I came across. The saddest part you say? I couldn’t think about anything other than my weight and I couldn’t escape the pain of not being perfect.

There came a point where I would eat exceedingly small meals, worked out every day of the week and even became a vegetarian for a year, for all of the wrong reasons. I was strict, counting calories and beating myself up if a failed on my dieting. I hid what was truly going on, claiming that I was just “eating healthy and working out.” Instead, I was obsessed with my appearance. I saw other girls around campus during college with crop tops and toned, beautiful legs. It bothered me that men at the gym didn’t take a second glance at me, only the women who exposed themselves, had their makeup done and the “perfect” body. I don’t know what prompted me to take it this far but before I knew it I had dropped my weight to 100 pounds. For a woman who is 5’5”, you should know, that is exceedingly unhealthy. I looked in the mirror, though, and felt satisfied even though I couldn’t admit it was a problem. To me at the time, I started to love myself. I wore those crop tops I was always jealous of other girls for pulling off, heck, I wore the shortest shorts imaginable, all because I could. I finally felt beautiful in my own body.

Then…. Another storm brewed.

Some people didn’t take my weight loss as beautiful. Instead, many were worried, thought I was “unhealthy” and told me to even “eat a burger once in a while.” At this point, I became lower than before. I figured, what’s the point anymore? Nothing I do pleases anyone. I’m either too fat or too skinny. I realized along the way, though, that during this whole time of becoming obsessed with my body and what others thought, I didn’t take the time to realize people will love me for who I am, regardless of my weight. Weight is not the most important thing. Granted, it’s important to be healthy, but these two extremes were anything but healthy. I was pale, my legs didn’t touch, I felt weak most days, I could count my ribs and even extra small shirts were becoming loose.

This, my friends, is not how you should live your life. I eventually didn’t let simple crude comments get to me and most of all? I learned to love myself again. It is possible to be unhappy with your appearance, but don’t let it consume your life, your daily activities and the way you view yourself. Every day is still a struggle but I am slowly learning to accept who I am. It is important to always remember that being an honest, beautiful person on the inside is what really counts.