My Eating Disorder – Part I

I am not the girl I used to be. Everybody changes throughout the years, but my change wasn’t positive. I developed anxiety, depression and an eating disorder- all severe. If you talked to me when I was ten, I’d be just fine. If you put cake in front of me, I’d eat it all without even having a second thought about it. Well, not now…
It all started going downhill when I was in seventh grade, during field hockey season. I was the awkwardly tall girl, the ugly one. I felt like a misfit. I began feeling like nothing I did was right, that I wasn’t good enough for anything or anyone. I didn’t know what was happening or why I felt this way, I was oblivious to what was going on.
In field hockey practice, I couldn’t run as long or as fast as the other girls, I couldn’t do as many push ups. I felt huge compared to all of them with their toned bodies, but I didn’t want to quit. Being on the field hockey team meant you were cool at my school, and my self-confidence was already low, I needed something to pick me up. I became the goalie. That way, I wouldn’t have to run during games and embarrass myself, but I’d still be a part of the team. Excluded, but I still had somewhere I convinced myself I fit in. I had a hard time socializing with the other players, so field hockey began to make me miserable. I wanted to fit in for real… I decided I needed to lose weight. Skinny means happy, right?
I started at about 160 lbs and dropped all the way down to 118 lbs all within two months. I blind to the illness that was taking over my body. Anorexia made my depression levels shoot through the roof. I began to self-harm. By eighth grade I had started losing my friends, dropping them one by one, isolating myself. This is when I was first brought to CPEP (Comprehensive Psychiatric Emergency Program) and was hospitalized. I’d tried harming myself by taking pills before, but it never did anything. This time, I was so depressed I didn’t even have to take any pills. My school guidance counselor was talking with me, and ended calling my mom telling her I needed to go to CPEP. I was in the hospital for a little over a week, it taught me nothing… If anything, being in the psych ward and seeing other people with worse scars than me just made my depression worse and triggered me.

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