You need to think this through, it could be the dumbest thing I have ever heard in my life. All you’re doing is hurting yourself, and for what? I could remember my brother telling me this like a broken record playing over and over in my head. ‘And for what?’ I think that may have been the hardest question I have ever had to answer. Let’s start from the beginning.

Freshman year. Freshman year I was convinced by my brother to join cross country- to get me in shape for the track season. My brother was a track star, and I strived to be exactly like him. So, that’s exactly what I did, I Joined the team. The first day when I got there I had barely finished the two mile forest run,but I knew that the more that I ran the faster I would get. My stamina would build every day and I would get faster and faster. I would record my meet times to my brother and he would give me goals for the next meet. I would run my fastest, and I would literally force myself to get the time. I became obsessed with setting goals for myself, and It was unheard of for me not to achieve those goals. I was in control of my body. Me. Not anybody else.
That cross country season ended quickly though, and I was still setting goals for myself not only on running anymore, though. My goals consisted of what I would eat that day. I would find myself scribbling all over my homework, my assignment notebook, everywhere. I would write down morning- bagel lunch- sandwich dinner- salad, and so on. Everything was scribbled on. Soon after that I started writing in my calorie intake. I would limit my calories less and less everyday. 150 less than yesterday. 300 less than last week. These goals worked so well for me. I was feeling incredible.

I remember coming home from a workout one day, and I weighed myself. 123 lbs exactly. I wasn’t a self- conscious girl, and I thought that I had a healthy weight, but still, I thought to myself “Next week Friday, 120 pounds” I remember this being the easiest thing I had ever done in my life. After breakfast I would weigh myself, write it down. Come home from school, weigh myself. write it down. Every single day I would try and lower my weight, and I would weigh myself all of the time. After school one day, I ripped out a piece of paper, looked at my calendar and thought “By this time next week, i'll be 119” “three weeks from now, i'll be 116” and the cycle kept going. Why did everyone complain about losing weight? This was so simple. I literally felt as if the weight was shedding off of me, and I didn’t even have to lift a finger. I loved it! I felt more and more beautiful each day. i felt stronger, and i felt that i had the power to do anything with myself.


Weeks had passed, and i had been achieving all of my goals. It was time to move on to something different. I went shopping with my mom and I had bought size 0-1 pants. I had never fit in to a size smaller than a 2 or a 3, but i bought these without even trying them on. They were a little tight when I put them on at home, but I left them anyway. It was a goal.

My mom asked me if I would like to go on a run with her. Sure, I thought, why not? It was a great opportunity to burn off some more calories. I ran a block away from my house and I nearly passed out. I was literally dry heaving and I couldn’t run any further. My mom took my into the house and said, “You look a little different. Do you feel sick?” Are you insane? I thought to myself. I feel awesome. But my mother kept rambling on and on about how I am ‘different’, and about how I have to energy. No energy to run. My energy level had fallen to the point of me not being able to walk up my own stairs in my house. This time, it wasn’t the fact that I was out of breath, but because I was nervous that if I went up my stairs, I would be working out my legs and that would cause me to gain muscle. Muscular girls were bulky, and bulky girls are fat. I avoided any workout or anything that would make me move more than I had to.
108 pounds.

I remember looking right at the scale seeing 108 lbs when I was suppose to weigh 107 lbs. I literally looked at myself, straight in the mirror, and told myself to get my crap together and not to eat. The next week I weighed 105 pounds. I was ahead of schedule. I talked to my brother about how quickly i was loosing weight and he said that it’ll be quick until my body plateaus and i would have a really hard time losing weight. Bullshit. I didn’t believe him for a second, in fact, I was so angry that he had even said that to me. I was in control of my body, if I want to lose weight, you better know that I will. I fit into all of my pants, and I look stunning. Everyone noticed the huge difference in a small amount of time. I remember on New Years, I had eaten less because it was a “special occasion” I only ate 600 calories that entire day. I came home from that trip weighing 100 pounds exactly. My goal was reached! I rewarded myself with a pack of M&M’s.

My anorexia got worse and worse. When track season came along, I was so excited. In my mind i was going to be faster, because I was skinnier and i could lift myself easier when I run. Not the case. I was the last runner. i was so far behind everyone. I didn’t understand why, was i too fat? I came home that day after school, went into my bed and cried all night. All of my hard work for nothing, I am still fat. I went into my bathroom, stuck my fingers down my throat, and I threw up. I will be skinny, and I will be fast.

My pole vaulting coach came up to me the following week and asked my why I had been looking so ill. Apparently I was really pale and skinny. I didn’t seem to notice. He told me brother whom he also coached that he thought something was alittle off with me. That night I had literally the scariest discussion of my life. “Do you want to run, or do you want to be freakishly thin?” What the hell is he talking about? If I am freakishly thin, then I WILL be able to run. It was so difficult for me to understand that I was wrong. I didn’t want to hurt my body or hurt myself, but I knew that I barely had a choice, my family decided it was time for me to seek help.

I started seeing a nutritionist who helped me with my food intake and made me keep a food journal. I hated it. i didn't want to write down my food for her, I didn't want to get fat. I hated her. I rebelled every second that i could. “ I lost my journal” “ I forgot to write it down” I never quite wanted to understand that she was trying to help me, and she was trying to make me healthier. By the end of my anorexia I weighed 97 pounds. As a freshman in High school, weighing that little is extremely unhealthy, but as time passed I started gaining weight. The only problem was, I didn't want to gain it. I simply wasn't ready. Every time I gained weight I hated myself more and more, I grew more self conscious by the minute. 106 pounds. I started getting upset, so upset. I didn't want to leave my house, I didn't want to talk to anyone. I wanted to lose weight! That's it. I would wear baggy clothes and try to cover up the fact that I wasn't a stick anymore. My mom would always get me nice cloths and try to get me to dress up, but I wouldn't do it. Tight cloths are for skinny people.

I don’t fall under that category anymore.
The problem with anorexia is, it never leaves. To this day, I will be staring at my size 0 pants and I will feel a lump in my throat, it makes me so sad that I had to gain the weight back. I think about food all of the time, and I continue writing my calories down constantly. The only advantage I got out of my weight gain was the fact that I truly did get faster, and better at track and cross country. And that's all that I wanted, right? To be fast? It wasn’t that simple though. My first season back in cross country after gaining back the weight, I threw up constantly. Not on purpose, though. I would run a little faster and just throw up. I would finish a race, throw up. Run a mile, throw up. My body was seriously so unstable. I couldn’t achieve my times, because of my gag reflexes. My nutritionist said it was because of when I threw up on purpose, I made my body used to it. Eventually, I got through that though and I was able to overcome my gagging and throwing up. I am able to run now, and i am satisfied with my speed. I still struggle often, and I think that this is something that I will struggle with for the rest of my life. The twist in my story, compared to others with a similar situation, is that I liked it. I loved it. I do not regret it. I don’t care that it was unhealthy. When I think back to that time, I remember only being so happy. I was so confident, my grades were better, I spent more time with my friends, I was closer with my family! I loved my life. I guess that the major reason anorexia never actually gets recovered, is because you remember those times. You remember when you felt confident and fit into small clothing. It’s almost like you’re brainwashed. I will be brainwashed for the rest of my life, and I will never look at a chocolate cake, for example, the same way that I used to. I will never be able to enjoy a chocolate cake without feeling guilty. But hey, at least I could run four miles without passing out. That’s all that I wanted right? To be fast? To be in shape? I should be happy, I should feel accomplished. So why don’t I? More importantly, will I ever?