Today I admitted I need help once again.
Today I cried in the dressing room with while trying on an outfit to wear for my first date ever about how much I hate my body. Then I cried in the car ride home about how much I hate my body. Then I cried some more.
I’ll be honest; over the last year and a half, I’ve gained a lot of weight– about half of my lowest body weight. That’s tough. That’s tough for someone without an eating disorder, nonetheless someone in recovery from one.
I am a recovering anorexic. I used to do all the things people with anorexia do in textbooks– hide food, cut it into small pieces, restrict it, sometimes binge and purge it, et cetera. I used this as a way of controlling my depression. I believed fully that if my body changed, I wouldn’t be depressed anymore. I believed my problems would be fixed if I could just shed 10 more pounds. I lost a lot of weight. I ended up in the hospital. I ended up wishing I was dead.
I entered recovery and blossomed. I learned so many new things about food and the way my body reacts to it. I learned that there are no good foods or bad foods, but that all food is just food. I learned that all food is acceptable in moderation. I learned that calorie-counting and dieting are harmful to the body and mental health. I learned that dieting simply doesn’t work. I learned that it is my responsibility to nourish myself. I learned that I was allowed to eat what I want, when I want.
I have gained weight for a lot of reasons. I entered puberty and recovery and began new medication all around the same time. I don’t know if I’m still gaining weight or not; I shouldn’t need to, because it’s not something I should be controlling. But I’m overweight, and sometimes my weight limits me from feeling healthy and able. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I feel that sometimes.
Over the past 2 weeks, I’ve really struggled with my body image. I’ve made plans to restrict several times but just can’t bring myself to carry it out for a number of reasons. One is that I don’t want to succumb to the evils of my disorder. Another is that I hate starving. One more is that I’m addicted to food.
I am addicted to food. I am very reliant on and attached to food to bring me satisfaction throughout the day and often turn to food as stress relief. A nice bag of gummy candy is exactly what I need after a hard day, and that’s fine, but it’s what I need after every hard day, and it’s what I need after every hard day. I’m constantly worried I won’t have enough food to eat, and so I pack large, often excessive amounts of food whenever I’m going out somewhere like school.
I don’t treat my body’s needs with respect. I often eat on a schedule, but not my internal one. Some of this can be added up to the fact that I’m a high school student and can’t eat whenever I want. Some of it can be added up to the fact that I feel like I need food to get by at times.
I feel so much shame around all of this. When I see someone that I perceive to be overweight, I think horrible things and I call these people pigs to myself, saying that they have no self control and that they’re weak. The reason I say this is because I’m imposing beliefs I have about myself onto others to feel better. It doesn’t work. That’s why I feel so shameful. My eating disorder makes me a horrible person.
But I have finally found and separated the voice of my binge/addiction eating disorder from the voice of me, Isabella. ED is the one saying “I need this food to make it through the day” or “I need this food to be happy or satisfied.”
I am seeking help, so all will be well. I just wanted to share this with you all.
Thanks for reading as always.