It sat there staring at me. I could feel its intimidating glare gazing upon me, judging me. I sunk deep into my seat as I tried to hide from it, but it always found a way to find me, no matter where I hid. I feared the power it had over me. So we sat at the table, face to face, glaring at one another. My mom finally turned to me and asked, “Are you going to eat that cheeseburger or just look at it?”

I wasn’t always concerned with my weight. I don’t remember caring throughout middle school whether I went to the gym or ate an entire pizza by myself. That just wasn’t something we were concerned about yet. During Easter when I was 13 is when it started.

I put on a pretty yellow, flowery short dress with grey and yellow shoes to match. I straightened my hair, just like I did every other day, and even used my new make up I got the weekend before. After getting dressed up, I went to the living room to wait for my brother and the rest of my family before we left for Easter Sunday church. Once we were all ready, we took our Easter pictures. My brother and I sat on the light blue living room couch squeezed together as my mom took picture after picture documenting every moment. I couldn’t wait to see the pictures after she took them because I spent so much time getting ready.

As soon as she showed me the pictures, I went up to my room and cried my eyes out on the floor. I could not believe how fat I looked next to my little brother or how horrible that yellow dress made my body look.

That was one of the first times I remember getting emotionally upset about my appearance.

According to the National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorders, over one-half of teenage girls use unhealthy weight control behaviors such as skipping meals, smoking cigarettes and fasting. Around 95 percent of eating disorders are found between the ages of 12 through 26.

As I got older, the tears continued to flow. I even started picking up unhealthy habits to control my weight.

On a weeknight, my family and I went out for a nice dinner. I never liked going out to eat because there was usually nothing healthy to choose from and they always gave you large portions. I took my seat timidly by my mom and begun surveying the menu. Steak…ribs…chicken fingers, nothing seemed healthy enough to order. My stomach rumbled as the waitress asked for my drink order.

“Water with lemon, please,” I replied, although a Coke sounded like the perfect quench to my thirst.

I set my menu aside as my stomach begged for food. The waitress finally returned and asked each person what they wanted. The question finally turned to me.

“And what will you be having?” she ask me.

“Umm… I’m not hungry,” I said.

This was not the first time I lied to a waitress and it wasn’t my last either. This began to happen more and more as I went out to eat with family, friends and my boyfriend. I hid this problem from everyone around me by saying that I had either already eaten or wasn’t very hungry.

I was scared. I was scared of how the food I ate affected my body. I was scared that I would have to increase my jean size from a 2 to a 4. I was scared that I would gain weight I wouldn’t be able to lose. These were only a few of my fears that ran through my head multiple times a day.

I remember every day after I came home from school. I would put my bags down then run upstairs to my parent’s bathroom. My foot would tap the scale sitting on the floor. Once it was ready, I took a deep breath and stepped on one foot at a time. I didn’t look down at the green number appearing on the screen below me. I tried to guess what number would pop up before I looked down. To my disappointment, I always guessed a lower number than the one that appeared. Always.

This ritual is a habit that still haunts me on a daily basis. While the number doesn’t affect me like it used to, it’s still a very hard habit to break after religiously standing on a scale every single day.

While during my high school years, I would have never classified myself as under weight or battling an eating disorder. But looking back, I can see how bad habits could have lead to a serious disorder. Now, instead of using unhealthy habits to control my weight, I use fitness and healthy eating choices.

Now every time I browse by that little yellow dress hanging in my closet, this memory stands out and replays in my mind. It reminds me of the girl I used to be.