Continued from here.
The summer before my senior year of high school, along with my caloric intake, my running habits increasingly got out of control, but to the opposite extreme: eating I did minimally, running I did excessively. I became obsessive about exercise, fearing that if I didn’t do any, I’d turn into a small blimp. Thinking back, my sudden obsessive behavior was largely a result of impending graduation from high school, and, although I was unaware of it at the time, starving myself to the point of having the body of a child was an attempt to ensure I would continue to be cared for by my parents. However, it must be said that at the time, I was unaware my anorexia stemmed from my fear of leaving home, and, in truth, I was spurred on to continue starving myself for the sake of looks; shamefully, the slimmer I got, the better I felt.
The despicable saying, “nothing tastes as good as skinny feels,” rung true to me, and despite being horrifically low on energy (which was pretty darn unusual considering I was renowned for being a strong energizer bunny in my younger years) and cold even in the peak of summer, my shrinking size inspired me enough to keep depriving myself of nutrition. By this point, friends and family started commenting on my appearance to my parents, which spurred them to confront me on my exercise and eating habits. Having realized that something serious was developing, they sat me down and asked what was wrong, to which I simply burst into tears, saying that I didn’t know how to stop myself, and that I didn’t know what was wrong; I was so confused.
Having watched documentaries about anorexia nervosa at school, I knew of the disease, but I wasn’t totally aware of the symptoms. Yes, the people in the videos were frightfully thin, but they didn’t tell us about their behaviors. Accordingly, I remember looking at myself in the early hours of the morning, before anyone else had woken up, and crying because I thought I was completely and utterly abnormal; after all, what kind of teenager wakes up before 5am to do ridiculous amounts of stomach-flattening exercises and lunges back-and-forth in their bedroom. I honestly thought that if anyone found out about my morning ritual, I’d be strapped into a straightjacket and locked up in a mental institute, which made me feel even more lonely, and thus, stupidly enough, made me exercise even more obsessively. Anorexia, my friends, is nothing but a nonsensical, vicious cycle.
To be continued.