I don’t know how to start apologizing for all the damage I’ve done to you these past two years. I think it’s easy to say that I didn’t expect things to go this far: to lie to family and friends, sneak food in my room, and endure endless amounts of midnight situps and runs. I’m embarrassed to admit the amount of things I’ve done to try to change you into someone that you may never be, to sacrifice your happiness and well being to please the eyes of others. In the end, all that changed was how a little girl based her self worth on the size of her pants.
I like to view the situation as if there were two versions of me: one as the little girl who loved eating more than anything, who would challenge others to see who could eat more, and the one I’ve become. I am ashamed to say how much of my happiness has become dependent on the number on a scale. Earlier I stated that I tried to change my body to please the eyes of others; although that may be true, it is not the whole truth. I think deep down, I wanted to change to please myself. I’ve long wanted that feeling of satisfaction when glancing in a mirror, to feel confident in my own body. I wanted to feel as if I belonged within a group of friends. I thought that by changing my size, I could regain the confidence I lost long ago. However, that was not the case.
December 2020, I was at my lowest weight, hearing endless compliments on how I looked, and how healthy I was eating. None of it did anything to improve how I felt about myself—all the comments just seemed like empty compliments. No one understood what I was going through or what I had to do to achieve the way I looked at the time. I felt more alone than ever, even when I was surrounded by friends; it was as if I was in my own world, stuck in this bubble of calorie-filled thoughts. For the first time in a long time, my parents were truly disappointed in me. Not that I had used their card to buy laxatives, but that I would do such a thing to my body. As for confidence, it had plummeted. I didn’t dare to wear clothing that showed any part of my stomach, I would cover my arms with layers and layers of jackets, attempting to hide my body from the rest of the world.
The irony in an eating disorder is that people try to change their body to feel better about themselves; however, the deeper they get into it, the worse they feel. They want to feel more accepted by society but end up canceling plans so people can’t judge their body. Even when they do go out, they feel more alone than ever, too occupied in their own thoughts to form memories with the people they care most about. I want to apologize for doing that to the young girl who wanted to feel loved. I stripped her of the ability to freely make new memories with her friends and to enjoy those precious two years. I’m sorry for weighing myself every day, for making you exercise to the point where you can’t take it anymore, and for making you weigh out every gram of food you ingest. But most importantly, I want to apologize for not attempting to get better. For recognizing the issue early on but being too afraid to improve.
