writing is hard

Talking about my eating disorder is quite difficult, and so is writing about it. Instead of providing a soul-grabbing, emotion-stirring, thought-provoking monologue, here are some lists:

People who have made me feel bad about my body
My best friend in fifth grade, for being mean to me and running away from me at recess everyday
My mother, for many reasons
My little sister, indirectly because people always like her better and tell her she's pretty
The girls in my town, for being so confident and good at lacrosse

Things I have done to lose weight
Counted calories
Stopped eating carbs
Made myself throw up

Things I used to do everyday
Weigh myself
Look at myself in the mirror and cry
Pinch the skin on my thighs, and cry
Daydream about food
Wonder what death will be like
Yell at my mother, and then cry in my room alone

Things I am afraid of
Sandwiches
Rice
Speaking in class
Speaking in front of large audiences
Leaving the house without a jacket or shirt to cover my arms
The dark
Gaining weight
Being naked

Things that make me happy
Sunshine
Climbing mountains
Running through the woods
Chocolate
Friends who can make me laugh
Dresses
Iced coffee
Good dancers
My sister, because she actually is cooler than me

Things I've learned over the past few years
People are still nice to me even if I'm not thin
My presence and what I have to say is appreciated
My body is strong and I need it to be strong so I can run and hike
Food keeps my body strong

Recently my best friend who I thought was so strong and confident and safe relapsed. I felt like I was talking to a stranger- she hadn't eaten that day, and what she ate the night before she had thrown up. She had been doing this for two weeks. Mine had never been that bad- I never had that amount of control. But the feelings were familiar. Disgust at food entering your stomach, imagining it going to your thighs next. You are trapped. You can't remember a time when you didn't feel this way.

I haven't felt that way in a long time. More than my fear of gaining weight, I am afraid of relapse. I am so ridiculously happy right now, more than I ever could have imagined three or five or ten years ago. I wish I could show my ten-year-old self how amazing her life could be in the future, and thank her for keeping herself alive, even though she really didn't want to. But I doubt she would recognize me.