(guy who has been hyperfixated on izzy hands for two years voice) hey guys you may not have known this but I actually really love izzy hands

[TRANS] [Pann] “I suffered from anorexia and planned to commit suicide, but I listened to BTS Suga’s song and stopped”

Source post: Pann TW: anorexia / eating disorder, suicidal thoughts

“I had always been at obesity risk ever since I was born. But I didn't hate my body, for my dream was to become a novelist. I liked being happy with the fantasy I create in my head rather than despairing over my fat belly.

And for that, I couldn't understand anorexia patients. How can they be so obsessed with their looks that they cause pain to themselves? There're so many beautiful stories out there. I thought it would never have anything to do with me ever.

But I too grew older. I finished elementary school and grew familiar to the school uniform. Suddenly, all the girls started to become obsessed with their bodies and the boys judged their bodies behind their back. I, a plump kid, became the target of ridicule secretly, but the skinny kids became the envy of others.

It made me look at my body. In the mirror was an image far from the society's ideal. I grew a hatred for my body. I started distancing myself from the mirror and only wore black, baggy clothes.

I entered high school. I went through extreme pain one time and all of a sudden I lost 5kg. 59kg at 159cm. I felt the joy. Would it make me look like a crazy person getting all happy about bones prominent on the back of my hands? I picked up the momentum and started dieting.

My weight dropped more and more every day. 49, 48, 47, cutting down on carbohydrate, 46, 45, eating vegetable only, I'm not satisfied yet. 44, 45, more days of starving, 42, 41, 40, now I practically just kept myself full with only water.

I went through that hell for half a year. I thought I was happy, having gained all the sticky thin arms and ant waist I saw on the Internet before. But my strength was ebbing away and it became harder for me to even walk. For the first time, I realized I was having anorexia.

39, 38, 37, I came to being unable to forgive any bit of fat on my body. I didn't eat out with my friends, my relationships all messed up and so was my studying. But I couldn't afford to gain weight again. I continued to live on eating just 300 calories a day, having only a banana for a meal. Anymore and I would force myself to vomit.

One day, as I clutched on the toilet bowl and saw blood from my throat, I couldn't take it anymore and broke into tears.

The life I once loved had vanished into thin air. The slightly chubby girl who loved novels now became obsessed with dieting, gripping her legs and wrists every day to check for bones, tormenting herself by vomiting or running for 4~5 hours each day. I couldn't write even just a line of that story I used to love.

I became a senior. I forced myself to gain weight, for my fitness. I comforted myself, browbeat myself and by the time I reached 48kg, I had cried so much. I became healthier but deep inside I thought of myself as a pig. It was hard to focus on studying. Yonsei University was my long time dream but my grades had dropped from pondering over my body all day. The homeroom teacher recommended lower rank colleges in Seoul to me.

I wanted to die. I gained weight but my compulsive disorder stayed the same. I counted the calories and nutrient every day. I took photos of my body and checked for fat percentage. It had been a long time since any other thought vanished from my mind. I couldn't focus on the novels I used to love. I would probably fail to enter college too, wouldn't I? I will never get to achieve what I dream of. My life is hell. I should die.

All of a sudden, I went on Youtube. If I hadn't watched Youtube that  time, would I still be alive now? Among the recommended videos, there was a mixtape by BTS member Suga. A mixtape called 'Agust D'. He looks round. I clicked. I'm gonna think about how I should die after watching this.

It was a shock to me who just casually listened to his music. He was singing his life with the lyrics. He decided to come to Seoul from just a single song. He broke his shoulder in a motorbike accident while working part-time yet he continued to be a trainee and endured every day. He slept on the bathroom floor and stayed up all night composing music. I started to feel how insignificant my pain was.

I listened to his life and the last track got me shocked. He was trapped in his restless and impoverished life, he suffered from mental illness and even attempted to take his own life. It was just like my story, so I paid attention and listened to the rest.

He didn't tell how but looking at the lyrics, it seemed like he had overcome all those agonizing past days. "I'm really okay now, damn". There was a strength to his sharp voice. I exited Youtube and thought. This person probably went through a more painful life than I did. Perhaps I too could overcome, in my own way.

I threw my phone on the ground. The front camera smashed. I broke out in cold sweat. I could no longer take photos of my body anymore so my compulsive disorder would get better, right? I hope so. I pushed myself up and threw the calories notebook into the trash can. I too wanted to overcome it like I hoped.

It has been 7 months since then. I'm no longer an anorexia patient.

I fought with my inner disorder every day, though it wasn't easy. I would notice the bones on the back of my hands as I memorize the vocabulary and find my body heavy as I solve past test questions. Every time my anorexia comes back, I would listen to Suga's mixtape. Every day. I nearly memorized all the lyrics. I can make it too. I blasted the provocative beats and desperate lyrics into my ears and engraved that eagerness into my mind. Gradually, my life found its balance again.

Now, I can read the novels I used to love, although I don't have the time to as I'm a senior in high school. I had no subject under level 2 in the mock test in September too, fortunately. Sometimes I overeat or skip meals, but I'm not obsessed with my body anymore. I'm okay with my 51kg weight. What's left is to study hard in the future. I plan to write rolling admissions application from Yonsei University to Joongang University. I don't know if I;ll get in, but my grades have improved that even my teacher gives me support.

If I get to meet Suga — no, Min Yoongi — I want to thank him. Sincerely. Thank him for not giving up on his life and music, for living every day earnestly and let his name be known so that his lyrics reached me. I think of you as my life teacher.

It's hard to meet Min Yoongi so I hope he can read this post. I hope he knows that he who overcame hardships, his music has saved someone who was in pain. I will continue to listen to your mixtape and aspire more. If I get into Yonsei University, it's all thanks to you. I will pray every day for you and me and live moments that I will not regret. I'm grateful to you and I hope you're happy.

To everyone who's reading this, I hope you too will overcome your hardship and become happier. Thank you.”

TL;DR: Atheism saved my life.

It was this morning that I realized that I have never really shared the story of how I came to believe what I believe. I grew up in a VERY Bible-following Christian family, and attended church with them every Sunday. I was always fascinated with the idea of a god being there for me, but I was also skeptical. 

I never did experience that “feeling” you were supposed to feel during worship. My friends at church all talked about it, and I could never relate, though I pretended to. As much as I prayed, worshipped, devoted myself to scripture, I never could “hear” or “feel” god. Oh, and boy, did I devote myself! I memorized those verses and read that book multiple times as a child, something my peers hadn’t even done. I prayed night and day. I tried so hard. I even begged my mom to let me get baptized when I was nine years old after finding out, in depth, what hell was. I was terrified. 

When I was about eleven, my family started attending a new baptist church, and at first it was amazing. I loved everyone there, I made a lot of new friends, I was excited to go every Sunday and Wednesday, less for the god aspect and more for the social scene, as my siblings and I were homeschooled for a time. 

Problems always arise when one fully realizes their sexuality. It was that same first week at that new church that I came to terms with the fact that I had a huge crush on one of my friends, who was female. This was before I knew what that “man shall not lie with man” verse meant. Hell, at the time, I didn’t actually know what sex was. All I knew was that I liked her, and wanted to hold her hand, and maybe kiss her. 

I, being shy about any sort of romantics, never made a move, not once. A couple of years went by before I found out what that verse meant, and what the word “gay” meant. I was horribly ashamed of myself. For a while, I even hated myself for ever developing feelings like that for someone who wasn’t a boy. 

So, as a young, terrified, confused teenager with very low self esteem, I started using box cutters for a different purpose. My arms and legs were littered with cuts. My youth pastor must have spotted a cut under my long sleeve one day, and instead of confronting me, went straight to the church’s circle of leaders, who eventually talked to my mother. 

Like that, everything changed. Parents of my friends started looking at me like I was diseased, and some even decided to try their hardest to keep their children away from me. I didn’t understand until my mom confronted me. 

When I didn’t stop cutting, my mom threatened multiple times to throw me in one of those glorified looney bins. She didn’t take me to counseling. To be fair, I don’t think she understood what self harm truly was. It was a whole new concept to her, none of her children before me had suffered from it. I don’t blame her for that. I would have been scared had I been in her position, too.

Despite how I was treated by my elders at the church, who were supposed to be there to guide me, but instead alienated me, we as a family continued to go for a little bit. It was shortly before we left that an older woman in our church had come out as gay, and the church began to gossip about her, bully her, and alienate her to the point where she was too uncomfortable to continue attending. This made me ecstatic whenever my family decided it was the best decision to leave that church altogether.

A couple of years later, I was 15. I didn’t stop self harming, and had picked up smoking cigarettes, as well as heavily dabbling in drugs and drinking a year prior. My dad quickly realized that I might have depression, and took me to a counselor. Sure enough, I was diagnosed and put on medication, which has slowly but surely helped me to this day. I didn’t stay in counseling for long, as my amazing therapist was retiring, but while I was in, I felt listened to for the first time in a while. 

I continued to go to church, despite cringing through many verses of the Bible that were anti-women or anti-gay. I would question the verses that would state that a woman must be sold to her rapist. When I asked my pastor about them, he would say “Well, it was a different time in the old testament.” To which I would reply “But if god is all-knowing, wouldn’t he know that regardless of the time, selling a woman to her rapist isn’t right?” Not a single pastor ever had a solid answer for me. I wanted to believe so badly, and I wanted to feel god with all my heart. But I just didn’t. 

After a while, I stopped going to church because these questions of mine had made more than a few of my pastors uncomfortable, and they would usually try to dodge me. So I gave up. But I didn’t stop trying to believe in god. I had to, or I would go to hell. That was my whole drive. My mom used to say “If atheists are right, then whatever, we all die. But if they’re wrong, at least we get into heaven.” It wasn’t until years later that I realized that was no reason to devote your entire life to something that may or may not exist.

When I married my husband, who is an atheist, I was still hanging on to the last shred of belief I had for a god. He respected that I believed, but he was curious, and would ask me questions like “why do you believe?” He made me realize that I never could give him a solid answer for that other than “I’m afraid of hell” or “I want to believe that my loved ones are in heaven.” 

That clicked for me. I wanted to, but I didn’t. I was a solid straight A student in school, and my science books never held any proof or concrete evidence of a god. I was always told to “have faith,” but never told to open my mind. 

To this day, many of my family members still believe that I just call myself bisexual to be edgy. Ever since I came out to them years ago, they either ignore the fact completely, or, as one of them does, they say “stop” whenever I comment on how pretty a woman looks. She never said “stop” to my brothers. But I always needed someone to talk to about it, so I was lucky I had the friends I did at the time. They were very supportive.

Just like my sexuality, much of my family believes I’m using atheism to rebel once more. My mom told me once, while we were having a beer and shooting pool, that she “didn’t teach me to be atheist,” and “I don’t know where you and your brother got this atheism thing from.” To which I replied, “you didn’t influence anything. I informed myself and made my decision.” She didn’t have a reply. 

Growing up, I was always made to believe that atheists were evil people who were hopeless and sad all the time. My mom also believes that, and even tried once to blame my 15 year battle with depression on my beliefs. When I pointed out that I haven’t self harmed once since I came to terms with myself, and that I first developed depression when I was a Christian, AND that before every suicide attempt, I prayed to god to forgive me beforehand, she went silent. 

To be clear, my mom, and possibly other family members, are very wrong about me. I have seriously never been happier in my entire life. I’ve grown so much, and I’m proud of how strong I truly am. My self esteem has never been healthier, and that came straight from the mouth of my current therapist. I finally found my strength and became a good person, all without a god. 

Now I’m not trying to shame any religion. Since religious people commonly give testimonies, I figured I’d give mine as well: Coming to terms with my beliefs truly saved my life. 

Dear anyone who is having trouble believing everything is going to be okay- I want to tell you a story. (Warning for all you peeps- I talk about self harm and suicidal thoughts/attempts in this, be safe, ily) In sixth grade, I was doing okay. I had friends, I was doing well in school, and I was having fun in my classes. It was in sixth grade that I found out I was gay. Me being who I was, I came out almost immediately. At first, it was only a few people who knew, and then suddenly almost everyone in my grade knew I was gay. This wouldn't have been a problem, except the school I went to at the time was a middle school in Central Texas, and LGBT people were never talked about. In my school, LGBT people weren't a thing. Quickly things began to get out of hand. There were a few people here and there who didn't know, the teachers either didn't know or didn't care, so things could have been much worse. But then I began to get bullied. The bullying itself in sixth grade wasn't so bad, but I had surrounded myself with toxic people, most of my friends were the kind of people who promoted self harm and suicidal thoughts. I had a girlfriend then, and she was one of those people. They were the kind of people who did these things to themselves, and wanted to talk about it, but would only talk about it if you weren't trying to help them. I began to get caught up in it all, and in sixth grade I began self harming and had suicidal thoughts. The summer after sixth grade I was doing better. With three months away from the toxic friends, I had stopped self harming and was doing better mentally. I would go ride bikes with my friend through the woods and get ice cream with her. We would talk about running away and make a plan, as if it was something we would actually be able to do. I wasn't in my best state during that summer, but I was doing better. Then seventh grade started. I surrounded myself with the same toxic friends. Some new ones, and the old ones had gotten even worse. I was still openly out in school, because everyone already knew, and the bullying got worse as well. The bullying was all verbal, and because of that I never wanted to say I was being bullied because I wasn't getting beaten up, and I didn't want to come off like I was victimizing myself. But the effects of it lasted. I hated my body, I hated myself, and I couldn't figure out why people would want to be friends with me. The self harming got worse. Whereas in sixth grade I would only make a cut here and there occasionally, in seventh it became a nightly ritual for me. At school I would think about how when I got home I could get in a shower and make new cuts. I still have the scars from it, and it's taken me until recently to learn to accept them. My suicidal thoughts weren't as bad in seventh grade, but I began to feel emotionless, and I began to cut my friends out. Like in sixth grade, this behavior was egged on by a girlfriend, but this time was so much worse. My girlfriend in seventh grade was manipulative. She would get jealous and demand that I let her look through my phone and then when I would ask her who she was texting she would just respond with I needed to give her privacy. She would cheat on her boyfriend with me and when I would tell her it was wrong she would say it doesn't really matter because he lived in a different state. She would make me feel bad about thinking other girls were cute, and get more physical than I wanted to and when I told her no she would say she had done it because I had egged her on. When I broke up with her, a friend (to this day I still don't know if this was a friend or her texting me) texted me saying that she had killed herself because I broke up with her. I freaked out, and tried to contact her, and she didn't answer me for days. She eventually did text me and tell me she wasn't dead, but had tried to kill herself. I haven't talked to her since, and to this day I don't know if she's alive or not. After all of this, I came clean to my mom after she approached me about self harming. I told her about the girlfriend and everything that had been going on. After seventh grade, I left public school and became homeschooled. My Dad, who I had visitation with, got mad at me for leaving school. He thought I was giving up and told me that I can't run away when things get hard, when in reality, I was leaving school for my own mental health and so that I would stay alive. Later that summer he kicked me out, and I haven't gone back to staying with him. After school, my mental health increased tremendously. At first I still struggled with self harming, and body image, but I had a friend I could text every time I felt I was relapsing. The April after seventh grade, I moved to a different town, one where a bunch of my childhood friends lived. I joined a homeschoolers group, and made new, healthier friends. I joined a LGBT group last year, and have a tremendous support system. So here I am, three years later. I'm living in my "new" house, I have some of the best friends in the world who I can always count on, and I'm in love with a girl. No, things aren't perfect. I have a grandmother with cancer who we don't know how much longer we have left with her, and my dad tries to gaslight me whenever he sees me. I have social anxiety, and I'm self-conscious of my body. I have only shown one person my scars since I left school. I find it hard to believe that the girl I love likes me back. But, things are better. I have a healthier outlook on life, and because of that I don't go falling back into those old habits. I've found myself in musical theatre and cosplay, I've picked up writing again, I learned how to sew, and I've found my people. I'm becoming more comfortable in myself and I'm trying new things now, things I would have never done before, like show off my body. Things aren't perfect, because they can never be that way, but I'm happier. So, if you're struggling, I want you to know that things get better, from a girl who thought that that phrase was complete bullshit. Always keep fighting. Whether you're holding on to make it to your 18th birthday, or you're wanting to get your first tattoo, or if you're wanting to see the world. There's always something that is worth holding on for, even if it's just for a little longer. Sincerely, A, the Girl Who Lived.

Quicky summary of Zed and Candler’s lives under cut 

tw for rape mention, pedophilia mention, child abuse, pregnancy mention, etc

Zed first:

Zed was given up for adoption as a baby by his parents because of traditionalist values they had about fertility, and it had been determined zed would never be able to have kids. They gave him to a demigod named Nanny who took care of kids without families, and he was her last child. He had a pretty happy childhood in which he knew Candler briefly (Candler would soon after be put up for adoption by his abusive family), and he was homeschooled but still had plenty of socialization.

He had a girlfriend for a while as a teen but when she found out he was unisex (everyone in his race has the same body parts) she broke up with him over some cissexist crap, which made him realize he wasn't really interested in relationships at the moment? Instead he focused on his studies, having decided he wanted to be a baker. He was a good student so he got into advanced placement stuff, and started college early.

That's when his sister Zen found him, who was excited to reintroduce him to their family and invited him over to her apartment. But it turned out to be a trap, she had lured him to a hotel and sexually assaulted him repeatedly, implying she was going to kill him. She dehumanized him severely by stating his lack of fertility made him not a person anymore, and kept calling him slut/whore/bitch during the act. He managed to escape but in the process fell off a balcony so he was sent to the hospital by bystanders, but nobody saw her and he refused to turn her in. After that he became incredibly docile and passive and an easy target for cruel people, and didn't get into relationships at all, period, not even friendships. This was compounded by the fact his sister kept finding him and tormenting him further.

But he managed to become a successful baker and bought a building that was a cafe on the ground floor and a home on the second floor. Some time later he heard about a local craft shop that was under threat of closure, and he sent them some goodwill and money. Turns out it was a shop Candler had opened to sell candles and other wax items, and he came to see Zed and was incredibly excited to meet with him again. However he had a unhealthy obsession with Zed and was often a harassing nuisance more than anything, constantly hitting on him, having no idea about personal space, etc. But he managed to worm into Zed's heart at least enough that, when it came time again that Candler had no money, Zed invited him to live with him so he wouldn't have to be doing the dangerous things he was doing for money.

After some time of living together, Candler realized Zed had been sexually assaulted because Zed had a shut down from Candler's pestering, recognizing his own behaviour in Zed's lack of response, and made a promise to pull back the shenanigans while also swearing to find his assailant and killing them. Not long after, Zen tried to attack Zed again and Candler walked in on it, and managed to get Zed away from her and beat her up. From Zed's point of view she never bothered him again after that and he assumed she had finally become a better person, but in reality Candler kidnapped her and left her for dead among his gang mates.

After that the two got closer, with Candler not only being less abusive but also just in general learning gradually about all the things that are Not Okay that he had internalized, and that what he was doing wasn't really love, but obsession. He became a much better person, which was when Zed finally started getting more feelings for him. But of course, it was freaking him out because of the years of repression, the history of abuse, etc, he had never really had a sexual interest in his life. A lot of confusion and awkward stuff happened but eventually Zed confessed his feelings and they got together. Still more confusion and awkward stuff for a while, though, as they both work towards a healthier idea about relationships and stuff.

Some drama happened in which Candler tried to escape the gang he was in, which then attacked Zed, which lead to Zed being told that Candler had killed people, including Zed's sister, and supposedly had assaulted people, which made Zed question their entire relationship of course, but before he could really deal with that, Candler was hospitalized and put into a coma over the rescue attempt, and Zed discovered Candler had been planning to propose, which made things... a lot harder to deal with. When Candler comes to, Zed demands he talk about literally everything in his life, which meant confessions of violence, though the sexual abuse was actually "by proxy" (as in, he was being forced with physical violence and death threats, and this all happened while he was a teen, so *he* didn't actually do it). For a while it was very awkward between them, it was difficult to wrestle with, but in the end Zed forgave him.

They get married soon after that, and soon after that they discover Zed is pregnant, which turns out to be twins, and that was some incredible hardship for both of them but everything turns out. The reason Zed became pregnant was literally a miracle - the god of their world, Tito, has a mortal disguise of which Zed and Candler knew personally, and the demigod Nanny was created by Tito as a way to take care of himself, and so as Nanny's last kid he decided to grant Zed a brief moment of fertility as a "wedding present". Of course they don't know he's really a god and that he did that, they just know there was a miracle and they couldn't be happier. 

And now Candler:

Candler was born into an abusive family. His family was also traditionalist with his race's values of having as many kids as possible, and they also always have twins, triplets, etc, but his parents had a hard time conceiving. Candler only had 3 older siblings, and was born with a stillborn twin. They treated him terribly, basically taking out their frustrations on him, including not letting him go to school and leaving him alone at home, and not getting him any toys or clothes or anything. In fact, the first time they left him with a babysitter, he was genuinely afraid they would never come back - because they would definitely be back for their stuff, but if he's not at home then they have no reason to come back.

But it was when he was being left at a babysitter's that he met Zed, and Zed was basically the only kid who was nice to him and actually wanted to be his friend (because the other kids took from the adults, who took from his parents that he was a problem child). He developed a crush on Zed, but never got to express it because he was so painfully shy. After his little twin sisters were born, they all three got dropped off at an orphanage.

The orphanage was really awful and this was when he first experienced sexual abuse. The man who ran it took an interest in him and basically forced him to be around him all the time, and the man was an evil, violent man that exposed Candler to sex as well as murder in one instance. The nurses of the orphanage had been preparing a case against him to get the place shut down and him arrested, but he was warned before the raid and kidnapped Candler, while Candler's little sisters went to a proper home. They'd be separated until he was an adult.

The man left him with a poor family that he had power over so that he knew they'd never turn him in for child abuse and kidnapping. Out of fear of the man, they didn't let Candler attend school or even go to the doctor's. In fact, they often dealt with any time Candler was sick with a fake doctor that was conning them, often making Candler sicker and messing with him bad, which is how Candler developed his phobia of doctors, needles, and medicine. Originally I had written this was how he got ridiculously tall and other hormonal problems but that seems far-fetched.

His hypersexuality started emerging and the orphanage man found out and was disgusted by it, cutting the family off entirely for "ruining" him, putting them in more financial straits but at the same time relieving them of this evil man and letting them parent Candler at least a little more securely, though they were still afraid to let him go to school. Eventually he starts wandering and is preyed on by a guy who claimed to just be "teaching" him how things work, and that leaves him more reclusive and unsure how to handle his sexuality, and he doesn't want to talk about it.

He gets picked up by a man in the gang he would eventually join, who skews his idea of sexuality even further by hammering in the whole "if your body reacts then you like it and it's not rape" and basically making him his sex slave throughout the rest of his teen years, particularly through keeping him on a choke chain and demanding he wear it whenever he was with him. Through this man he would be made to "perform" for others in the gang, be used as a bartering tool, be attacked in other violent ways, be forced to attack others, etc. He developed anger issues, violent tendencies, suicidal thoughts, the idea that sex is bad/gross, etc and wound up leaving his family and within the same week killing the man, both in a fit of rage. The messed up hierarchy way of the gang meant this let him "move up" which meant less traumatic events happened after this, but he had to develope some wits in order to avoid getting back in that position, and it didn't always work...

Through this gang and sex work he was able to purchase an old, old storefront that... basically was just two rooms, a big front room and a back room, and lived in it, only a bed and a toilet and a little refrigerator. He learned candle-making from his adoptive family and tried to make a "decent" living, but couldn't keep his hours, or stay neat, and the place was pretty... run down and creepy looking. So he never really got to leave that gang as it was his only place of finances... until Zed sent him some money as a show of goodwill, and he found his childhood friend again. Through all this trauma he had been using memories of Zed to cope with it all. Which is how he developed his unhealthy obsession with Zed. So when he realized this was the same Zed he had known as a kid, he was through the roof happy.

But then he still couldn't maintain his finances, and Zed had learned about that he was doing dangerous things to make money, so he offered him a place to live so he wouldn't have to, which was incredibly shocking to Candler because he had never had anyone be so genuinely caring to him, and he had kind of gotten the idea that he wasn't a person either. So even though he had idolized Zed this whole time, it was still shocking. And this is where we converge with what I said about Zed's backstory. Except it's a bit more emotional from his end because he never really thought he'd live past the age of 30.

(As an additional note here: Candler’s name is actually Marcellus, but he went by Candler since he started living with his adopted family as a false name, and only his twin sisters knew his real name, until Candler finally told Zed, after which he no longer went by it from anyone. He does not like nicknames at all because of all the trauma he went through under his false name.)

Bulimia to B.E.D. - A journey

To me it makes complete and total sense, but I guess to others it doesn’t. This became so very clear to me when I was discussing having an eating disorder with a friend a last summer. She said to me “Do you still consider yourself to have an eating disorder?” The subtext being, how can you have an eating disorder?? You’re fat. 

I get it I’m not thin. But it really made me think. 

My entire life I’ve had an eating disorder, this actually just occurred to me. In my earliest memories I have had an unhealthy relationship with food. I’ve always considered myself to be fat, as long as I can remember. When I was hospitalized at age 17 and 19 for malnutrition I thought I was fat. When I look at pictures of myself from about 10 years ago I see my arms with that sickly thin look, but I remember that day and I remember thinking if I could just loose 10 more pounds I would be “ok” not “thin” but “ok.” Whatever it is that “ok” means, I don’t think I really had any idea what this dream of “ok” I was seeking was then. Either way “ok” means something different now, something healthier. 

So like I said I’ve always thought I was fat even when I wasn’t. It started pretty early, elementary school I would say in 3rd or 4th grade. I developed faster than a lot (actually all) of the girls in my very small school. I had big ole titties by age 10, as well as womanly hips and I was nearly my full grown height of 5′7″ at that age as well. I was teased and of course it hurt, I was very susceptible to this type of teasing due to events in my early childhood I may discuss at some point but not now because it isn’t the point. Just believe me when I say some people are more susceptible than others. The idea that something was WRONG with my body was cemented in very early. 

By the time I got to middle school anorexia and bulimia where starting to get a lot of news coverage. I heard about bulimia and instead of recognizing it for the sickness that it was it seemed like just the thing to help me finally fix my body. I couldn’t make myself stop needing food to live, buy I could eat and purge it right out. At first it was hard, I would put my fingers down my throat to bring on a gag and a heave, but eventually it was like I conditioned my mind that this is simply what is done after eating. I could simply think gross thoughts and boom express upchuck. I lived on a farm miles from other people in all directions. I would take long walks in the evening and void myself away from home so no one would notice. I could usually manage most of the school day without eating at all so that wasn’t much of an issue, but if I felt the need to evacuate I would simply wait in the bathroom until it was empty. I was often accused of hanging out in there to listen to other people’s conversations. 

By high school I was experimenting with chemical intervention to further restrict my calorie intake. I took my brothers ADHD medication and would happily buy it off students who didn’t want to take it. My levels of anxiety grew and grew. The only things that made me feel “better” where purging and partying. I was a high acheiver but antisocial, I had good grades and kept to myself so I was completely unnoticed by most of my peers and most of my own family as well. During my sophomore year I had my first “episode.” I told my parents I just CANT handle IT anymore!!!! What it was that I couldn’t handle? I couldn’t really tell them because I didn’t really know. I was just sure I was going crazy and I needed help. My parents took me to our family doctor, through a blood test he found me to be malnourished and I spent the night in the hospital getting IV nutrition and a psych consult. My doctor told me I was malnourished because I ate too much junk food and not enough healthy fruits and vegetables. He never once asked about my eating habits, at 150 pounds I was actually overweight. He told me if I made healthier choices with my food I would feel better emotionally and I would also be able to maintain a healthy weight. The psych doctor at the hospital told me I was depressed, and prescribed Prozac and weekly therapy session. My parents insurance covered 6 session which I attended but accomplished absolutely nothing. 6 sessions isn’t enough to build trust let alone fix the depression I was diagnosed with, or the eating disorder no one noticed. 

When I say no one noticed BELIEVE me when I say that. No one. Not a single person noticed. And do you know why? Because we have this image that the media has put into our head of the person suffering with bulimia. That person is a waif. So thin a stiff breeze would knock her over. Even malnourished, light headed, heart racing at the slightest exertion I was no waif. I was skin and bone in size 10 jeans. I understand this will be hard to accept. My parents didn’t notice, my friends didn’t notice, my doctor didn’t notice. I was starving to death, wasting away. You know what my friends are parents did notice? My very slim friend, who did not have an eating disorder. I was told many many times that it was my duty as best friend to this thin person that I intervene and help her because she was so thin she must have an eating disorder. This very much reinforced for me the idea that PEOPLE CARE MORE ABOUT YOU IF YOU ARE THIN. If I could just be thin enough then someone would care enough to notice. 

Time passed. I kept right on bingeing and purging and partying. I finished high school, early actually. Moved out and turned up the volume on my unhealthy lifestyle. Malnourishment plus drug abuse and Prozac with a side of my boyfriend left me for his ex-girlfriend equals a suicide attempt and back to the hospital we go. This time as an adult I was treated to a 3 day observation period. My malnourishment was diagnosed as being caused by my drug abuse. Schizoprenia now replaced my diagnosis of depression. At a healthy weight of 145 pounds not a question was asked about my eating habits, or lack thereof. I see pictures of myself then, and I look sick. My face is gaunt, my skin is bad, my eyes are dark and vacant. When my face becomes gaunt I think that I look like a man, someone told me once I looked like a horse (it’s funny how the hurt sticks isn’t it). All these people who were supposed to care about me supposed to look out for me, they looked at the number on the scale and said well that’s healthy it must be something else. 

So I moved back home, I laid off the drugs for a year or so. I gained back about 30 pounds. I withdrew and tried in some way to heal myself. I was frail but I was holding it together. I had a job, it was drugs and drinking on weekends, eating only one meal a day and not purging, hating my body. This was my normal. Then I met a boy, of course it’s always a boy. This man-boy introduced me to a new and wonderful drug called methamphetamine. What made it different from all the other drugs was the EUPHORIA that and it turns up your metabolism that you lose weight twice as fast as if you are simply starving yourself. So back down the rabbit hole I went. Fast forward 18 months, a shot-gun wedding and a still-born son later and here I am. Now I actually am depressed. I’m 22 years old, I’m married to a man I knew for 2 months who has turned out to be incredibly abusive, I’ve buried firstborn and I realize I do really need to make a change. I stopped doing drugs completely and I stop purging. I cut way back on my drinking and make a real effort to eat at least 2 meals a day. I try to “fix” my husband because I am deeply in love with his daughter who lives with us. With both of her parents are far more into the drug scene that I ever was I feel like it’s my duty to protect her. And I really do want a family. I suppose I figured if I couldn’t have the family I needed when I was young I can build that family and have a different role in it. I can be the loving mother I never had, and I can CHANGE my abusive husband into the involved father I never had. I can have another son and give my step-daughter a healthy sibling relationship. 

Surprise, you can’t change or fix people who don’t want to be fixed or changed. I did have a son, who is the light of my life. However, after 7 years of physical and emotional abuse and constantly being cheated on I realized I couldn’t put any more energy into fixing this “man.” It was killing me. Though I didn’t realize it at the time I had completely replaced drug/alchohol problems with a food problem. When I was at home alone while my husband was out doing whatever/whoever he was doing I sat at home so full of sadness an worry. As I had sworn off drugs and getting drunk with the kids around there was food. The binge and purge cycle came back. When he was home and I was walking on eggshells trying not to set him off food was always there, cooking provided busy work and eating would reduce my anxiety, I couldn’t purge with him home. I was afraid it would bring on his rage, because he would certainly hear me through our paper thin walls. 

Having to constantly sacrifice and forgive is really really hard, it drains you, you start to feel like you don’t matter. Sometimes I wondered if I was real. I would play a game where I wouldn’t speak for days at a time. Just to see how long I could go before anyone noticed (3 days is my record by the way). I started thinking about dying a lot, how if it wasn’t for my children no one would notice. By the time I left my ex-husband I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW how to be happy anymore.  To make it worse after we split and I’d had 2 weekend visits, to punish me into submission my ex-husband refused to let me see my former step-daughter. I cried and cried thinking of how she must feel like I abandoned her, how I had clung so hard for so long to try to give her a happy life and how I had failed miserably. I can’t talk too much about her because I feel so emotional, but just believe me when I tell you that I still love her and wish I could be a part of her life. That was the final straw really, so I guess he “won” in punishing me. The guilt and sadness and grief of losing my step-daughter sent me into a serious drinking spiral. I hooked up with a guy at a bar, two years later I moved in with him and I realized I was making all the same mistakes I had been before. 

Instead of being physically abusive this new fellow was a narcissist. He was a master of gaslighting. It was impossible to purge because he was always around. He was also very particular about knowing where I was ALL of the time. I remember once I was about 10 minutes later than usual getting home. He demanded for HOURS that I tell him why I was late. I really didn’t even have a reason. It was 10 minutes. But somehow he made me feel like I was the one who was being crazy for not having a reasonable explanation for 10 minutes if my day, instead of him being crazy for demanding I answer him. If I was in the shower to long I kid you not he questioned me about it. He had me so convinced that something was wrong with me that I started seeing a therapist about 1 year into our relationship. I was very very fortunate to find my therapist. I came across her by coincidence, I was looking for a therapist that had evening office hours so that I didn’t have to miss work and after a short wait on her list I got in to see her. 

My main complaints were general unhappiness, angriness, being distracted, feeling overwhelmed but not really doing anything. I knew she was the right therapist for me when I told her about feeling overwhelmed, feeling pressure to get all of these things done and then not doing anything, feeling unable to do anything. She said to me that people often feel this way when they are dealing with a great deal of anxiety. It was like someone had finally given me permission to admit what was really wrong. One of the things that gives me the most anxiety is talking about my anxiety so it was really important for me to hear it from someone else. Especially after hearing from other doctors that my problems were anything but anxiety. I was finally able to talk to someone about how I coped with my anxiety first in life with bulimia and later by bingeing. She gave a name to what I was dealing with. She told me what I was feeling was real, that I wasn’t alone! She encouraged me to attend over-eaters anonymous and I did and truly experienced that I wasn’t alone. She worked with my patiently, she truly listened to what I was saying. We did hard hard work together. Though it’s a continual struggle she taught me coping mechanisms to deal with my anxiety and therefore to reduce my urge to binge. She taught me how to have self-worth, which was something no one had ever told me before. She proved to me that I mattered and that I deserve to be happy as much as anyone else. With her help I learned how to create a support system or people for myself and for her I am forever grateful. With her help I know consider myself in recovery and getting better every day. 

So when my friends asks me if I still feel like I have an eating disorder (even if the sub context is that they don’t think so because I’m fat) I tell them the truth. Yes, I am in recovery. I see it as an opportunity to be an example for people that having an eating disorder doesn’t always look the way you think it does. I see it as an opportunity to spread awareness about B.E.D. so that maybe someday that friend can reach out to a friend in need. Back when I was in the throws of bulimia and B.E.D. I can imagine that my response would have been crazy, there would have been screaming, and crying, and incomplete sentences. The true gift of recovery is peace. For me peace is calmness inside of me that allows me to spread a message that is helpful instead of crazy.