Overcoming an Eating Disorder

There are certain aspects of my life I am readily willing and even happy to share; if I ever do anything embarrassing you know I will be on Twitter right afterward so the world can hear about every time I trip in public or call a professor “Dad”.

However, there are aspects of my life I actively avoid discussing. To me, my personal demons are my own. I can’t exactly peg the reason behind my secrecy, but I’m sure I’m not alone when it comes to this. There are so many people going through so much in this world. Every single person has problems in their life, and I truly hope nobody gets the impression that I believe my problems are more important or troubling than theirs.

I just don’t like sharing things like this.

I decided to write this article anyway, and as soon as I did I felt a sense of relief wash over me. The kind of relief I felt when I told my closest friends. Then the same kind of relief I felt when my family found out.

I didn’t tell anybody because when it started, it wasn’t an eating disorder. When it started, it was something that I could easily resist. When it was only a week of throwing up -- it was just a week, then just a month, then only a year. When I started skipping classes to binge and purge, it was because I wanted to, not because I had to. When I couldn’t eat without throwing up, it was the last time, every time.

My secret, my eating disorder, had been weighing heavily on me. It was changing me. I was trying to overcome it by myself while slowly sinking into one of the lowest points of my life.

I didn’t tell anybody because I was going to stop on my own. I didn’t tell anybody because I was ashamed. I didn’t tell anybody because I didn’t want to be self-conscious every time I ate in front of somebody. I didn’t want anybody to look at me differently.

Telling my friends was hard -- I was actually embarrassed. It was emotional, and I do not like emotional situations. Now it was not my secret, it was their burden.

I didn’t tell anybody because I didn’t want the lives of the people close to me to revolve around my eating, just as mine had become. I didn’t want them to feel responsible or guilty when they couldn’t stop me from purging. I didn’t want them to feel like they constantly had to worry about me.

I didn’t tell anybody because part of me didn’t want to stop. Part of me held onto my eating disorder and didn’t want to let go. Knowing that whenever I’d eat I would have the option to purge gave me a dangerous sense of security.

But I’m so relieved I told somebody.

Because after I told somebody, they encouraged me to seek out professional help.

They supported me. They gave me courage. They helped me because they cared about me, not because they felt obligated.

I told somebody, and it lifted the heaviest of weights off my shoulders. I didn’t feel so alone. I had someone to talk to, to confide in. I had someone who understood why I was acting the way I was acting, and who did everything they could to be there for me.

I told somebody who cared about me and was happy that I told them. It may have been a lot to learn, but when you’re worried about someone, knowing everything that’s going on with them becomes a relief. Because now they can be there for the person they care about.

Because now they know.

I told somebody because I couldn’t do it on my own.

I’m still seeking out help for my eating disorder, and every day is still a challenge. I still give in. It’s still hard.

But it was so much harder when I was alone.

Which is the reason I’m writing this -- because I was once the person on the other side of the screen. I was once the person who thought I could get through it without support. I was once the person who felt hopeless when I realized I couldn’t.

I don’t know who’s reading this, and I don’t know your troubles. But I hope that you’re not going through them alone.

I hope you tell somebody.