I’m not stronger because I’ve battled an eating disorder. Immensely difficult struggles such as fighting one's own desire to completely self-destruct may teach you plenty of lessons, yes. But it does not make you stronger. Let me explain.

I would have been stronger, both mentally and physically, had I not spent years malnourished ruining my metabolism and destroying my body.

I would have been stronger had I never once dipped my toes into the acid that was wanting to die so badly.

I know more about myself then I did back then, but how can we say who I would’ve been had I not had to spend so long figuring myself out?

Who could I have been had I spent all these years focusing on writing, going through my Kundera or Kafka phases earlier?

Would I still be dancing had I not destroyed my own ability to see myself in a mirror, much less dance in front of one?

What would I be doing had I had more space in my brain for difficult classes? What if I had stuck with those science classes had I not been so consumed with the chemistry of my food?

'The struggle makes you stronger' is an alluring way to put the knowledge you gain from recovering from an eating disorder. It’s a way to legitimize the illness, make it valid. It makes excuses for the time you wasted.

I wasted years of my life. Wasted years of my life wandering in and out of treatment centers having to fight to stay alive. A fight that was necessary, but only because without that fight I would have died. And while I learned about myself in this process, what other things could I have learned out in the real world? The real world is not filled with strict schedules and meal plans, but a world filled with endless possibilities outside of yourself. I was stuck on the sixth floor playing Bananagrams and crying behind closed doors.

And while I know it’s not helpful to dwell on what could’ve been, I do have to acknowledge it. Far too many people who write about eating disorders write in such a way that makes them still seem glamorous. They use alluring metaphors and describe dreamlike floats through treatment. They don't talk about those with walking death sentences or health complications. They only touch on the things they lost, they don't talk about who they could have been had they not been sick. Instead, they talk about who they are in spite of once being sick.

Relapses for these authors and others alike become content generators. A dip back into madness to find more metaphors and stories. A chance to escape again and come out on the other side with content to write.

That glamour is why books like Wasted are coveted by those in their eating disorder. If it were to scare the living daylights out of a person, like an eating disorder and the complications of them should, no one who wanted to stay sick would be caught dead with it. I knew plenty of people in one residential center who only used certain behaviors because they read them in books, like Wasted.

The truth isn’t glamorous though, it’s ugly. So we focus on the lessons we learned and attempt to make the struggle ‘worth it’. We write with beautiful metaphors that are dangerously appealing, still holding onto those obsessions in ways of writing. Sugar coated death sentences – that’s what they are.

A journey down the rabbit hole is not worth it.

If you or someone you know is struggling with an eating disorder, you can call the National Eating Disorders Association Helpline at 1-800-931-2237.