Anorexia is a disease that many - if not most - people have heard of. Unfortunately, very few people that have heard of it truly understand it. They seem to think it's something that easily goes away, or it's silly little girls who just want to be pretty and thin. The truth of it would shock them.
I first developed anorexia when I was 14. I had put on quite a bit of weight due to an increase in physical pain causing a decrease of physical activity - And an increase in emotional eating. I was, to put it bluntly, fat for my age. I wasn't obese, but I was well outside of a healthy weight.
After a visit to an orthopedist brought about the discovery of mild arthritis in my spine, as well as disparaging remarks about my weight, I was sent to physical therapy. The therapist, we'll call her Sharon, was thorough and efficient as far as therapy goes, but she made constant, snide remarks about my being a "couch potato" and how fat I was. I started eating less until I was barely eating anything at all - And that was only because dinner was a family affair and I couldn't get away with missing it or eating nothing.
I lost weight fairly steadily after that. I inevitably shrank down to 95 lbs at 5'7 and maintained that weight until my thyroid crapped out in my early 20s. But even at that meager weight, even though I was told my ribs could easily be counted, when I looked at myself, whether down or in a mirror, I saw that same fat girl I used to be.
I still do.
I've maintained a healthy weight for the better part of a decade now, hovering between 128 and 135. But in the past couple of months, owing to an increased appetite from continual birth control, I'm up to around 143 lbs. It's the heaviest I've been since I was put on my thyroid medication, and the truth is, I'm terrified. Not at the weight gain itself exactly. But because my brain is already rebelling. That fat girl I see is getting progressively fatter even though I know, logically, she isn't what I really look like. Already it's a struggle to make myself eat when I feel hungry rather than trying to starve off the weight I've gained.
This isn't because I feel like being skinny is prettier. This is because of the monster that has made its home in my brain that never goes away, and it's gotten stronger with the extra pounds. I have to fight to keep it at bay, to eat every bite of the fuel I know my body needs to stay strong and healthy.
Anorexia is a monster. It's a horrific disease that will try to control every second of your life. And it doesn't give a damn if you're male or female. Yes, it does effect more women than men, but men get eating disorders, too, and gents, I see you. I feel your struggle and your pain. You aren't alone.
Anorexia can be permanently beaten by some. But for many of us, it's a lifelong struggle. It has been for me for the past 16, almost 17 years. I don't know how I'll beat it, if I ever will. I don't know how many battles I'll win and how many I'll lose. But so far, I've won more than I've lost, and I'm proud of that fact.
I'll keep fighting every day, because I know the second I stop fighting, it's going to win. I can't let that happen. 97 pounds was as much of a victory as it gets; it's never going to put me in a hospital. And it will never put me in the ground.
We've got this, my fellow anorexics. We can beat this. Our health, our lives are at stake.
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