Eating Disorders: A Personal Narrative Of My Life

With the final slam of the lid of the trashcan, I threw away years of work, of torture. I threw away my adderall, my hidden doritos and chocolate, my syrup of ipecac, and my food journal. All of my lifelines to my dream: being thin. On that afternoon, my dream waned away as I had one day hoped to.

I waltzed into the same room as Ana and Mia, the affectionate names given to the most common of eating disorders, when I was 13. They were tall and slender, everything the voice in my head said I should be. It started with skipping lunch, bringing me down to one meal a day. This wasn't too bad, except that I would inevitably crack at some point, eat my feelings, then cry because I couldn't be what Ana wanted. I suppose taming her, the first day I ate under four hundred calories, was my threshold guardian into this underworld (4). I quickly learned that

I broke down to my father. Quite literally, I atoned with my father (4). I have never been closer to him than since I started sharing my struggles with him, and having him share his battles with me. I started therapy last year. After a few months of talking I received my diagnosis of major depression, anxiety disorder, EDNOS, and some OCD tendencies, along with my prescription of fluoxetine, quite literally the poor man's Prozac. My dosage doubled after just a few months, because I'm crazier than the average depressed teenager. I haven't seen my doctor for a while, but my lack of motivation and abundance of tears make me think it's time for a tune up. I don't know if I can ever feel truly stable happiness, unaccompanied by all of my downs and triggers, but I know I have to keep trying for the people who love me. I haven't quite left my mental illness behind; honestly I doubt I ever will.I will still feel the call of the void, and the sweet whispers of the blade, the self medication, but I’m done with walking in circles, and feeling in circles while I wade through all this