An Overdue Farewell Letter to my Eating Disorder

This is a tough post to write. Maybe I'm writing this because the new year is looming over us, maybe because I'm sentimental with the end of my first semester, or maybe it's because I recently wrote my personal essay on this subject and got me thinking.

Regardless, I want to write this.

A year ago, I was diagnosed with severe bulimia and anorexia, and had to undergo intense treatment at the rehabilitation program for eating disorders for three months at HSC. I suffered with the illness since I was 14 years old, and was tormented for eight and a half years before treatment. I cannot sum up what it's like, but to put it bluntly, it sucked.

For years I would conjure up unethical rules for eating, alienated myself from my friends, had extreme self-loathing towards myself, became a slave to the app My Fitnesspal and scale numbers, obsessed over clothing sizes, the list is ongoing and endless.

I have heard many people and read many articles that it's a "vain illness," which is the farthest thing from the truth.

Every waking moment of my life, I was thinking about food. Which meals I could skip that would go unnoticed, how many calories is in what I'm eating, how I can slip away to the washroom to purge up what I ate, if I eat this then I can't eat that........it never ended.

I would have reoccurring nightmares of being obese, and wake up in cold sweats, and cry myself back to sleep. I would clutch my stomach every morning, reassuring myself it was still concave. I would stare at myself in the mirror, pinching my flesh, telling my reflection I was worthless and people would like me better if I was skinny.

My body image was so contorted. I saw a 170-pound girl in the mirror, oppose to the 108-pound girl looking at herself with extreme distaste.

The lowest weight I reached was 99 pounds, and I remember feeling euphoric when I saw the numbers on the scale. I was determined to reach my next goal weight of 95 pounds. I didn't understand that low weights were extremely unhealthy and dangerous, and I learnt from a nutritionist that my real weight should be 125 pounds. I was in a blind frenzy for unattainable perfection.

I feel as if I had two people living inside of me, bulimia and anorexia. We were a sick, twisted family of three, and I welcomed them into my life, and could not rid myself of them.

I'll never forget the day my family found out. I had become an expert liar, and hid my body under loose cardigans. My best friend had secretly texted my younger sister pictures of my body I had taken, of my protruding ribs and clavicle bone. My sister showed my mother and oh boy, tears and screaming matches ensued.

After months of broken promises, lies and tears, I reluctantly and resentfully agreed to meet with a psychologist and was, against my wishes, enrolled into rehab. It felt like a death sentence.

It was the most intense experience of my life. It was 12 hours of intense discussions, food, and hell. I came home emotionally and physically drained, and cried every day. I was bloated and disgusting. I felt like I was being stuffed like a turkey for Thanksgiving dinner. Ana and Mia (the terms for anorexia and bulimia) were kicking and screaming within me, telling me to leave, that they were trying to sabotage my life. I wanted to give in to their demands so badly, but with lots of pushing, I trekked on with treatment.

Slowly, veryyyyyyyyyyy slowly, I stopped having anxiety over food. I began to look in the mirror without cringing. I didn't mind that I couldn't fit into my 00 jeans. I enjoyed food. I enjoyed life. I left the program as a new human being, just as myself, no two evil voices in my head. I was free.

Of course, I will never truly be rid of my demons. I still yearn for a smaller figure, I do get nervous about eating certain foods, and I do sometimes feel down about my body. But, hey, I tell myself everyday that I am so much more than numbers and bones.

I never step on scales anymore, I don't count calories, and I've deleted any fitness app off my phone. I get excited to go out for meals, and have become a more confident and pleasant human being.

During treatment, I was given an assignment to write a farewell letter to my eating disorder, and I never did. Until now.

 So this is for you, anorexia and bulimia. So long, I'll miss you never, don't ever step foot in my life again, you'll be shunned. You do not shape me into the person I want to be, you are not welcome in my life.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to finish every bite of these delicious chocolate chip pancakes, loaded with maple syrup and butter. Adieu, adieu.

Sincerely,
Ingrid