Distraught…

The only word that comes to mind when I think about the most hated period of my young life. The time when I was too weak to overcome something so small. The time when my mind became my worst enemy and my thoughts left me suffocating. The time food intimidated me more then anything or anyone ever could.

When I was 15 years old, I began realizing I was unlike the average teenage girls I knew. However, I differentiated from the other girls in ways I absolutely despised. While majority of my girlfriends focused on fitting in their first year of high school, my mind was engrossed on something else. Was I going to make it through the day without throwing up?

I was at war with my mind and body, and to make it worse, I was nowhere close to winning this battle...yet. Bulimia had seemed to take over every aspect of my life that year and left me feeling trapped, and as a young girl, the thought of something holding you back when all you want to do is soar forward is excruciating.

My problem became clear the summer going into freshman year. The pressure I put on myself to start high school with an ideal appearance was taken to an extreme. I wanted the older boys to like me and I wanted the girls to notice me. I was willing to do anything to feel good about myself. I adapted these feelings over time and the main cause was by someone I never expected. This person wasn’t supposed to pick at my flaws, but overlook them and tell me I was beautiful in her eyes. She was supposed to build my confidence, not shred it to pieces. She was my mother, and I blame her so much for the monster she created that year.

Sounds harsh right? Not if you were in my position. My mom would always point out things that could be fixed. Maybe my legs looked to thick or my arms a little flabby. The second she saw something that could be fixed, I was notified. I had had enough and I was ready to fix my body to make it perfect so I didn’t have to hear anything from my mom anymore. I started with a list; on it was compiled of everything my mom had pointed out and attached to the paper was a workout schedule I had found online. Not to mention, these workouts were done on top of cheerleading conditioning. Basically, four days out of the week I was doing two-a-days. But if it would get my mom off my case, I was willing to put in the work.

Mid-July is when I had finally toned my body to my best ability, or so I thought. One day after I had showered and gotten dressed, I went to find my mom. I smiled and spun and asked if I looked different. Her response was a look up and down, then a smirk unfolded across her face. And this is where it all began.

“Your legs look great! But you have my genes, we can never get rid of that belly.”

I wanted to die.

Immediately, my face felt like it was on fire. I was hurt, I was embarrassed, and I fed up with living up to a standard I’d never reach…or so I thought.

To hide the tears from streaming down my face, I jetted downstairs. I went to the bathroom, turned the fan on, and dropped to my knees in front of the toilet bowl. It was more then just food I was getting out of my system, all my hate I had built up was in the toilet…literally. Every time I think back to the very first moment I made myself throw up, I remember the feeling it brought me afterwards. Not guilt, not disgust, but satisfaction. For the first time in months, I was happy with myself, and I planned to keep it that way.

Besides schoolwork and cheerleading, my free time spent working out and purging. All of my friends would make jokes about how healthy I ate, and I’d laugh with along. The funny thing is though, I wasn’t laughing with them, but at them. I laughed because they didn’t know that this food would be gone as soon as I got home. I laughed because for a split second, I believed I was healthy.

Months passed and slowly, I began to overcome my eating problems. I took it day-by-day, meal-by-meal. At first, it was impossible. As time prolonged, I started focusing on other things; cheerleading and writing became my escape. I started going to church and not to sound like a religious freak, but God was a main reason I was able to push through my rock bottom.

Although my life was hell on Earth for a year, facing bulimia at such a young age made me the young woman I am now. Battling an eating disorder showed me how strong I truly am. I see health and fitness differently then most girls my age. Now, I know what’s healthy and I know what to put in my body. This has not only made me a better person, but a healthy, happy person.

I fought a battle solely with myself. No one knew, therefore no one was given the chance to help me. I did this on my own. I strongly believe that if I can conquer something like this, I will be able to get through so many other obstacles that will happen throughout my life.