Part Two: “Ana” is for Anorexia.

At this point in my life, I was a shell of who I once was. I snapped at people. I insulted people. I hated being touched. I hated dancing. I hated school, my friends, my family. I hated everything. I think what no one knows about an eating disorder is how much it changes your personality.  In the beginning, I could push away all the horrible things Ana said about people. As time progressed everything she said I said. That’s a stupid idea. You’re never going to actually make it. That’s an ugly shirt. It wasn’t enough I was miserable, everyone had to be. The best analogy I can think of is a house cat suddenly turning feral. This cat that once purred when it saw you and sat beside you while you read was now a hissing, biting, monster. I was horrible to everyone I encountered.   

At this point, my mother found this out and I started therapy. Along with therapy came supervised meals. I won’t go into detail about the gruelling hours of therapy and forcing down tuna sandwiches while my mom pretended not to watch me swallow every bite. I won’t talk about putting coins in my pockets on trips to therapy and chugging water in the car on the way there. I won’t tell you about all the awful, heartbreaking things I said to my mother that to this day I am ashamed of.  I won’t tell you about what it felt like being hospitalized because I was at a dangerously low weight. I won’t tell you about the days of torture where all I could do was lie in my hospital bed and eat. I won’t tell you how I had to pee with the door open and shower with supervision.I won’t tell you about the ensures I drank so I didn’t have to look at the food they brought me and calculate the calories. I won’t tell you about how much I hated myself for getting caught or how I had to lie there for days and feel my body get fatter. I won’t tell you about how painful it is feeling full when you haven’t eaten a full meal in months. I won’t tell you about how uncomfortable it is feeling your stomach expand. I won’t tell you how I lied awake at night sobbing because I couldn't feel my ribs anymore. I won’t tell you about how I begged every nurse who would listen to let me go for a walk so I could burn just a few calories. I won’t tell you about what it felt like seeing my brothers and sisters cry at the foot of my hospital bed.

I’ll save all that for another time because I could write novels about all the things I won’t tell you right now.

Talk soon,
Em