It’s hard to look back at a time when I didn’t feel strong enough to climb a stairwell. Standing motionless at the bottom, staring, knowing I was feeling too weak because of the lack of food I had consumed that day.
It’s hard to look back at a time where I would count the calories that I ate every meal. Allowing these all-consuming thoughts to fill my mind, to pull me away from the world around me, to make me appear as absent.
It’s hard to look back at a time where I would sacrifice meals to compensate for others, forcing myself to ignore the grumbling in my stomach and my light-headedness.
It’s hard to look back to a time where the ribs under my chest and the bones on my shoulders stuck out, but that I didn’t seem to feel like it was enough.
It’s hard to look back to a time where I made my family worry. Hearing the concern in my mum’s voice over the phone, pleading with me to gain back the weight while I was abroad.
It’s hard to look back to a time where this was my reality, and I kept it to myself.
Not more than 3 years ago, this was my life.
What began as a harmless attempt to lose a few pounds, turned into an illness within the span of only a few short months. Living away from home gave me the freedom to choose the foods that I perceived would ‘do the job’ and help me lose the weight. Sticking to low calorie vegetables and minimal carbs, it wasn’t long before my weight began to drop.
But I didn’t stop. It didn’t feel like enough. I didn’t see myself the way others saw me, and when I would hear people say things like, “where did all of you go”, it made me feel proud.
It’s easy for something like this to get so out of hand. Easy for you to feel so finally in control of your weight, that you never want to let go of that control. So easy to convince yourself that being skinny is more important than going out for dinner with your friends, eating your own birthday cake, celebrating thanksgiving… So easy to stop being yourself.
3 years later, I look at stairs and different thoughts come to mind. Stairs remind me of what I am not. I am not weak, I am not submissive to my eating disorder, I am not sick.
Now, I run up the stairs. I run because I can, because I’ve nourished myself the way I deserve to be nourished. And every time I do, I distance myself from the girl who couldn’t.
