I hate it here. I feel like a criminal in court, however, I did not break the law. The doctor tells me that it is important to answer the questions honestly, that this is the only way to get better. He asks me to think back to what could have possibly triggered this situation.

My mouth is dry and my fingers which are pencil thin, are cold and clammy, my shoulders are hunched and my sharp spine is sticking out through my shirt.

Of course I remember, how could I ever forget? I figured it out years ago.

I have always dreamed of being a ballerina, I told her, and I have always been at the top of my dance class. That is, up until last year, when I fell and broke my ankle. All of this self-hatred started when I was 11, I say and I tell her my painful story.

I had rehearsed for so many hours I lost count and I was scheduled to audition for the Royal Winnipeg Ballet school. Knowing this, I was determined to win the audition. I remember performing all of the complicated dances, keeping a smile on my face even though it was exhausting. I remember the feeling of relief when I finished the last of them. By the end of the three hour audition, I knew I had done my best, and that it went very well; my ballet teacher even told me so.

When the results were finally ready, I was full of hope and confidence. The scowling grey-haired adjudicator, called me into a big white room covered with old ballet posters. The room smelled of perspiration, dust and hair gel. While I waited, almost unable to breathe, the dance master looked down at her paper and lastly looked me right in the eyes and told me that while I had danced very well that day, I just did not have the right body type to be a professional dancer.

The look on her face reflected disgust and sympathy, which made me want to curl up in a ball and sob. She told me that I should lose 15 pounds, and maybe try again next year.

The room was spinning now. It had never occurred to me that my body was a problem. Soon after, My 11 year old self looked at her reflection in the mirror and started to cry, while, the adjudicator's voice echoed in my mind.

When I was in grade 7 my figure started to change, but in my eyes, not for the better. I had developed and I loathed my body even more. I could not wake up in the morning without looking at myself and thinking how revolting I appeared. With this in mind, I decided it was time to diet.

I would spend hours and hours on the computer looking up ways to lose weight. I started off with exercise and eating healthier, but the results were not showing fast enough, so I started cutting back on my food consumption. By the end of grade seven, I had weighed under one hundred and twenty pounds. I was feeling pleased with this but still, I could not help wanting more.

After the summer break, I showed up at school and everyone told me how great I looked. Inside, I felt special, like I had some kind of magic power that no one else had. My power was that I could go without eating. Half way through the year I dropped down to one hundred pounds. I was now the lightest girl in my dance class, which meant that I would be the one who was lifted up.

Around that time, my mother started to nag at me, telling me that I had to eat more, or she would put me in an institution. I felt targeted, angry and frustrated. She did not understand me at all. I kept asking myself, "why isn’t she happy for me"?
When the holidays came around, I cheated. I ate a lot and I felt miserable. In addition, I gained five pounds. It seemed that all of my dedication was for nothing so I did the only thing I could do, I went into the bathroom stall, closed the door stuck both fingers down my throat and gagged. I told myself I would not leave until I threw up.

This behaviour went on for about ten months. My mother was frantic and brought me to the doctor every week. I knew I had a problem, but it was bigger than me now. I hated myself for what I was doing but I could not bear the thought of being fat. My hair was damaged and breaking off, even falling out; my skin was flaky and dry; my cheeks were shallow and my eyes were droopy; my bones stuck out like little dagger points, and I could not sit down without a pillow underneath me.

Although my mom would weigh me regularly, and also out of the blue, I developed a brilliant system. I would drink a lot of water before she weighed me, so that the scale would be tricked.

Next, the accident happened. And that’s when I knew it was time to fix things.

Two months ago, I was in my dance class, when I slipped. I didn’t fall hard but I broke my ankle. The doctor in the Emergency Room told me that because I had barely any body fat and I was lacking all nutrients, my bones were very,very weak. He then pulled my mom aside and recommended that she take me to a dietician and a health specialist.

At first I was reluctant to go, but now here I am, finally ready to heal.

At the time of that accident, I weighed seventy-two pounds. Since then, I have gained ten. Although I still can not stand to see myself in the mirror, I have seem to have compermised with my body.

Throughout my experience I have learned that no one should ever feel the way I felt - lost, confused and afraid. No-one should ever hate her or himself like I did. We are only given one body in our life time. We have to learn to love it, accept it and cherish it because it is the only thing that we have that can never be taken away from us.
Every day is a struggle for me but it is important to focus on my inside healing,on my body and on myself. I have a schedule now, so that I know what to eat and when, but I still struggle and I will live with this for the rest of my life. Some days I am so tempted to go back to dieting. Just for the feeling of control. I know I am not the only one suffering from this terrible disease, and that comforts me, yet I cannot help but feel that every time I put a piece of food in my mouth my body bloats up, my fat rolls multiply, and I look obese.
Can I, will I, ever learn to live with it ? Control is a powerful thing and in my healing I am learning how to use it for the better.