I will be prettier when I am thin enough. I will be loved when I am thin enough.

I will only be happy when I am thin enough.

Everyday, I feel heavy. Just mentally and physically heavy. I can't help myself as I fall deeper into a hate where I am helplessly tricked into believing the terrible lies created by my own mind.

I am well aware that what I'm doing is not good for me, yet I don't care. I take pride in what I am doing. I have never had so many people comment on my body. How "tiny" I am, how "delicate" I am and how well I fit the description of "body goals". I am pleased with myself for being so strong, for being able to follow a fitness routine that is so strict, for having so much self-control.

I can't really say that I'm okay. I can’t remember the last time I felt okay.

This is my life with my eating disorder.

At three in the morning, I lie awake, wide-eyed and desperately wishing I were asleep. My stomach growls angrily and in turn, I am furious at myself.

It is the middle of the night, you can't be hungry, my mind yells violently. It is not time to eat yet. Go back to sleep. You can eat when you wake up, when it's time for breakfast. Until then, be good. Go back to sleep.

But no matter how hard I try, I can't go back to sleep. I understand my body is hungry, but I don't care. I have rules and I will follow them. I care about my body.

That is why I do this, because I care.

When I finally fall asleep, I wake up an hour later with a terrible pain in my stomach and a throbbing head. My roommate asks me how I slept. I shrug and I say I slept well.

I make breakfast. I don't really think about what I have a taste for because I have the same breakfast every single day.

As I munch on my apple, I take out my phone and open the most visited app: MyFitnessPal.

I enter every single item that I am eating. Each and every ingredient, even cinnamon. It matters to me. This log needs to be absolutely perfect to know exactly what goes in to my body.

Opening this logging app a minimum of 25 times a day, this food diary has become the most important ritual of my daily life. I am not ashamed, yet I feel the need to keep this a secret. As my roommate walks into the kitchen, I quickly switch the screen to Facebook.

I go to class, but I am not present. I hear, but I don't listen. I see, but I don't understand.

I try to focus, but linear algebra proves to be a tricky class for me today and everyday. I'm sitting in class and doing endless equations in my head, but the math I'm doing is not the math I am being taught.

The corners of the page in my notebook look nothing like the scribbles on the board. I am adding. Adding everything I've already eaten and figuring out what I have left. Figuring out what I can have for dinner and what I can't.

This is the moment where I fall apart. These are the moments where I feel like I've already eaten too much. I feel like I've lost control and everything just comes crashing down around me.

I leave class learning nothing more than the fact that I can have exactly 12 grapes with my lunch today.

I'm trying to study but my head feels a little fuzzy.

I'm nervous for the big test coming up. I need to do perfect.

No matter how hard I try to focus, I can't shake the relentless nagging that is happening in the back of my mind. I'm overwhelmingly frustrated because it's already one in the afternoon and I haven't been to the gym yet today.

I'm exhausted and my body would much rather use this study break to take a short nap, but I need to go to the gym. If I miss a day, I will gain weight. I tell myself that it's simple math of calories in, calories out. It just makes sense.

I push side my studies, lace up my running shoes and head to the fitness center for a "quick" work out.

Two hours later, I finally make it back to my dorm.

Once back to studying, I still can't focus. I feel much too guilty to focus on anything other than how I have failed.

I planned to complete a four mile run with my workout today, but around the third mile, I stopped to catch my breath and walk for a minute. I couldn't do four miles without stopping and I am ashamed of myself.

Of course you couldn't run four miles, the voice in my head screams at me. You are a fat pig and you will never be good enough. You have failed, like you always do. I will make you so much better. You need me. Without me, you are nothing.

I listen. I believe.

That night, my friends and I plan to go to dinner. Immediately, I regret this decision, but I refuse to be the person that cancels our plans again. I spend an hour studying the entire menu. I become an expert on the restaurant’s offerings and ingredients, the cooking procedures and the nutritional value of every single item.

I don’t really enjoy chicken lettuce wraps, but it is the healthiest item offered and because of that, it is now the only item I will allow myself to get.

Ten minutes before we leave for the restaurant, my friends suggest we try the new Italian place instead. I feel like everything comes crashing down around me. I was not prepared for this. I don't know anything about this restaurant. I don't know how things are made and I don't know what I can and can't eat.

I fight back tears. I want to stay home and eat my food that I prepare in my own kitchen. I hate my friends right now.

Panicked and betrayed, I decide not to go. I say I have far too much homework. They believe.

When I finally crawl into bed at night, I am exhausted. My body starts dreaming as soon as I close my eyes, eager to get a good night's rest.

Three hours later, I wake up again in pitch black, eager to fall back asleep and deeply frustrated by my growling, greedy stomach. And the familiar routine begins again. And again. And again.

I am in recovery now.

Today, I know I am okay. Even if I don’t feel okay, I am going to be okay. I can continue to recover and find peace.

Please help destroy the stigma. If you or someone you know may be suffering from an eating disorder, please do not hesitate to reach out for help.

Life is too short to spend another day at war with yourself.