Is like being sick,
For an entire lifetime.
Being diagnosed should be considered a mental crime.
To feel as though you must measure your;
Being an Anorexic makes you so, so sick.
You always feel like you failed if you eat anything else besides a few pieces of kale.
You have no energy.
Vertigo is a bitch that comes with it.
Oh, the goddamn ketones.
Ketones are a lovely cell that your body produces
That essentially eat you alive,
To keep you alive.
From the inside out.
I remember walking into the sterile smelling,
Unbuttoning my loosely sized double zero jeans,
I caught a glance at myself in the mirror.
I thought I looked beautiful, at that moment.
I put the small plastic cup between my legs,
Not expecting to receive the rock bottom news that would choke me.
The emotion and mental haze that being Anorexic brings,
Equates to the pain of a billion wasp stings.
From lack of food intake, your emotions are all over the place. But usually, lower than average.
You flare with anger when you have your own expectation and image of pretty, but then get told “you are too skinny,” from a boy.
You are paranoid that even drinking a diet soda will make you bloated, and everyone will see you like a cow.
The anchor plunge rush when you see in your jaded eyes “how MUCH you weigh.”
What if scales could read and tell us, how little we weigh?
But how is that possible, when I used to step on a scale:
You get the picture.
I by no means want to encourage what an Anorexic would consider being “the pros” of having this ungodly disorder brings, but for educational purposes, I will list them.
You feel a sense of euphoria, almost a high when your hunger pain passes.
Then not only do you feel accomplished for getting through that stomach-being-put-into-a-cheesegrater-feeling
You smirk at the accomplishment that you are getting smaller
You feel confident in yourself. For things such as hip and collar bones are supposedly attractive when they are protruded.
Though now that it is 2018, and sayings such as “thick thighs save lives” are being tossed around- it’s not like the earlier to mid-2000’s where being skinny was the most desired body in society.
It is now present day, and before I tell the tale of how I made the number on my scale raise,
I must put out a message,
That I am writing this as a lesson.
I hope you find my story, inspirational and helpful.
The Doctors all told me that Anorexia is a choice.
For someone that spent thousands of dollars and hours becoming an expert,
I facepalm myself, mentally,
Every time I think back to the day I was diagnosed.
Those rooms all smell the same.
Whether it was the
I even remember what I was wearing on this dark day.
Isn’t it fascinating how your mind can push back or tuck away specific memories?
We all have those few
That can be remembered so vividly.
Even when, we don’t want to remember.
After taking what felt like a million tests,
From mental to physical health examinations,
Gave my doctors the determination to make an accusation,
And that’s basically exactly how it happened.
I had just gone to my doctor for a physical to get cleared for the swim team.
Little did I know,
I would not only be swimming in my team’s pool,
But also an ocean of my own.
My first road to recovery.
Being led into a small office that smelled like all the rest.
It was dimly lighted,
With bland art on the walls,
And carpet that would make any modern-day designer puke.
My father and myself were placed in wooden chairs with cotton cushions that felt as though no one had ever sat in them before,
As if no one had ever sobbed their eyes out from the news that blew a patients mind.
And it was my time.
Doc walks in;
“Julia…Julia, Julia, little….beautiful Julia.”
I looked at her with my big emerald eyes.
“What?”, I thought to myself.
“Am I dying?”.
Truthfully, I was.
“Julia-Katherine…” (she used my full name, I knew I was in trouble)
“You are Anorexic.”
She labeled me so quickly.
She marked my so vastly.
She gave me a label that will forever stick with me.
“What…what do you mean?”, I scoffed.
“Ms. Katherine, you have Anorexia-Nervosa.”
“You are fucking crazy.”
(Yes, I really said that and have said worse to my doctors)
“I eat…until…I’m full.”, I protested.
“Like any normal person.”
How dare someone, let alone a doctor, who has only known me for about an hour
Tell me something that I still to this day have a hard time believing.
In a way.
That is just my microscopic ego comes into play. (i.e., I don’t believe in egos, for myself at least)
Is this why psychology as a subject, as a field, was invented?
To give a term that will scab, scar- but never fully heal, to who I am?
Where did society come up with the symptoms of Anorexia?
Where the fuck did the term, Anorexia Nervosa even derive from?
Doc shook her head and put her hand on mine.
She informed me on my:
-High key-tone count
-Extremely low BMI
-Surprisingly still semi-strong heart, that was running in the potential of dying as it did so quickly develop
I sat there in that wooden handled, cotton cushion chair.
I saw what she meant,
Looking at everything with new eyes from my fingernails and hair, seeing for the first time how they and so much more of me, physically were brittle, bent and just about spent.
I crossed my legs so tightly, hoping they would look a bit bigger, maybe only slightly.
There are just not enough pages in this world,
Not enough ink any in a billion pens,
And too many thoughts in my head,
The dehumanizing feeling
And had to grieve,
That I was given a label,
Which I never thought of,
Or would even consider would be present or welcomed in my life.
The rest of that visit was visualized in grey.
Giving me a recovery plan and schedule,
Down to what I would eat,
All and every day.
Until I would weigh in at a weight that would make everyone smile.
Until I would be able to eat everything off my plate, though little did I know, that wouldn’t come for a while.
This all seemed so so vile
In my very juvenile mind.
I didn’t realize that on this day I was supposed to get a sports physical,
That I would be declined
I knew one thing;
It was time to fight.
To be continued….