I have never really made a true connection with anyone outside of my family. Instead, I have made a career of not letting people into my life. I could engage in casual conversation, reciprocate pleasantries, and leave it there. It would never go further because I would push people away without them even knowing. I never gave anyone a chance to pursue me, for friendship or affection, until now. No one gets in, no one gets hurt. However, behind the quiet smile was a scared, sad, troubled girl screaming for help.



I thought I had a classified existence; as if I was a living secret. My every breath was censored; I inhaled the world and exhaled nothing back. No one knew of the waves beneath the calm sea. And as my problems escalated, aspects of my life seemed to spiral downward. My self-esteem, my connection to the world, my weight, all reached their low point. How can I let anyone under my skin when I can barely stand in it myself?



I wanted so badly to disappear, and I almost succeeded. The only thing I felt I could control was my weight, so that became my focus, as everything else blurred in the background. I remember shivering, huddled beneath layers of blankets, arms clutched around myself to keep warm, then unconsciously running my hands down my side, counting my ribs. I remember crying in the shower, the pain of the water hitting my skin was so great I almost fainted. I remember standing for hours in front of the mirror, examining, scrutinizing, and judging the skeletal image that stared back at me. I remember stripping down to nothing, stepping on the scale, praying to God, and then crying when I saw the number. 92 lbs. I had gained weight since last time. I used to analyze exactly how many calories I let pass my lips. Over and over, I would calculate nutritional values as if I were doing my taxes. I remember running, mile after mile, time slipping away as I pushed myself farther and farther. Running on empty, the intense pain soon gave way to a high others couldnt possibly understand. Anorexia became my drug of choice. The more people noticed, the more I felt validated. I was finally in control.



I saw the stares, I heard the whispers, and I loved every minute of it. People commented on how skinny I was, and what I took as compliments were delivered with concern. No clothes fit, my size 0 jeans hung loosely around my (lack of) hips, and I loved every minute of it. I couldnt sit comfortably in class, my bones pressed against the chair as I shifted to find a new position, and I loved every minute of it. I knew when I walked into a room, I would be the thinnest, and people would regard me as such, and I loved every damn minute of it. My eating disorder became a best friend of sorts, it allowed me to do what I always wanted to, hide from the world, and push people away, while still getting the attention I craved. I was in control, or so I thought.

hello there & you too