That Morning

I stood in my room alone, the very place I was supposed to be safe. I stared at myself through the mirror for about 30 minutes. The lights in my room were purple and when they flashed to blue, I started to feel dizzy. I felt myself shake and start to lose consciousness. Then I slammed against the floor. My eyes opened slowly as I felt the new bruise forming behind my arm where I fell on it.

“What was that? Did you break something?” my mom yelled up the stairs.“Stop messing around, get ready for school.”

I didn’t have the strength to answer. Everything still flashed black and white. I couldn’t seem to stand up. I tried using my bed to get up but my arms and legs started to wobble and I collapsed back down. 

My mom busted through the door. I remember how livid she looked. I was going to be late for school. Again. 

Somehow I managed to get up but all I could hear was a ringing noise. I only heard one word come out of her mouth. “Breakfast.” 

I poured my bowl of Frosted Flakes and milk, but I never took a bite. My stomach growled and everything ached. There was no energy left for anything but my thoughts. “You can’t eat this! Too many calories!” My head started to pound and I could feel the growing desire for the taste of food, but I couldn’t bring myself to pick up the spoon. The cereal sat uneaten on the table and had already become soggy. When my mom left the kitchen, I dumped my bowl out into the sink and washed it all down. 

“Three days” I thought to myself. It had been three days since I’d eaten, and I wasn’t going to start now. I thought maybe if I skipped another day, I’d be skinny enough. 

I’d be enough. 

To be Enough

It felt like my whole existence I had never been enough. 

From the way my mother compared me to my siblings with grades, in-school activities, friends, sense of style. 

To my father who told me I would never get a job or make a good life for myself because of my sexuality and opinions. 

To the boyfriend who convinced me I would never be enough without him. 

Then, most importantly, there’s the two best friends I had during this time, who introduced me to anorexia and self-harm.

 They told me if I had hurt myself, I’d be better, I’d be more popular and liked.

 They told me starving myself would “fix all the hurt” and “fill the self-worth” I had been missing.

 They and so many others convinced me I had to fit the perfect model body, and until I could, I’d never fit in.

I would never be good enough for them nor anyone else.

This tore a hole in my heart, and created an unfillable void. I thought not eating would give me what I didn’t have.

So I continued the way I was going, not thinking of any consequences.

Rock Bottom

I still remember feeling light headed right before lunch. Every ounce of me felt unfulfilled, and not just in a way of physical hunger. It biting away at my insides. The tingle in my throat seemed to flow through my whole body, throwing off my senses until I felt nothing. My whole body felt empty, yet I still refused to eat. 

About 10 minutes before I’d leave for lunch, I was sent to do errands around the school for my teacher. 

I remember the foul odor from the boys running the halls during gym. There were spilled Goldfish crumbs all over the carpet from one of the previous lunches, and every step I took I heard a crunch. I had this taste in my mouth, almost like sour milk. 

But soon I didn’t hear the crunch anymore. I couldn’t smell the wretched scent that filled the hallways. I couldn’t taste anything. I couldn’t even see the halls correctly. 

Everything started to flash in and out and the walls started to narrow in on me. My vision went black, and the last thing I felt was my head hit the floor.

This was rock bottom.

No escape

When I woke up the school nurse was talking but all I could see was her mouth moving. Finally, the words from her mouth started to muffle in. 

“Are you okay honey? Can you move your head? Can you hear me?”

I saw the assistant principal rush through the teacher break room.

I look back to see a tall man in athletic sweats.

“Should I close off the area?” he asked.

Seeing him, hearing his voice, brought back every detail. The halls started to spin again, and the moment I collapsed played on repeat in my mind.

He’s the one who found me.

“Get both doors and close them,” the AP said. 

There were no exits, no lying and no cheating my way out. I was trapped, and there was no avoiding the truth.

The nurse called my parents and counselor down to meet with me and told them I had shown signs and symptoms of anorexia. 

My heart dropped to my stomach.

Even though I had always known, I had never actually admitted it to myself. The room was cold and dead silent. Time seemed to slow down and the rest of the conversation seemed to last years. 

I started to fill with rage. 

My fingernails clenched tightly into my palms. My breathing slowed and heavied. My thoughts bounced off the walls of my brain and wouldn’t sit still.

 I was furious. At the nurse, the AP, my parents, but most of all, myself. 

I don’t know why I was so angry. Maybe because I let my big secret slip, because I knew what came next. Or maybe it was because I wouldn’t be able to keep up what I had been doing, and I wouldn’t get my goal weight. 

The Plan

That night, as expected, I found out I was being admitted to the Center For Discovery, an eating disorder recovery center. I felt betrayed. I knew this was for my own good, but what did my parents know? 

I needed to be thinner; I needed to be enough. I couldn’t get skinnier in recovery, so I decided to pack my bags and run away.

I thought everything through. I wasn’t planning on coming back so I started packing clothes for each season. 

I had my blue puffy winter jacket for the cold nights. I brushed my hand over the top left pocket of the jacket, imagining the time my brother threw a snowball at me hitting that exact spot. 

Next I put in my tank top I had gotten from Cozumel. I began to reminisce the times me and my sister were on the cruise ship, leaving our room at 3 a.m. for free ice cream. 

“My parents love me so much they went all the way to Antarctica and back to get me this shirt,” I whispered out loud, reading what the shirt said.

Chuckling, I threw it across my room and into the trash.

Then I saw all my shirts from the mall. All the times me and my old friends would go to the mall and drop the bouncy balls from the second story and laugh as they would hit peoples’ heads.  

I had changed a lot since then, but what if there was a way back. What if I could be that happy again?

Life can be good, I thought. I could live my life the way I used to.

No, I couldn’t. Not anymore.

Now, they expected me to be someone I wasn’t. I had to care about my weight and my looks. Wearing the trending clothes was my priority. The need for popularity was at its highest point in my life. Now I couldn’t be happy. 

I’m better like this. I’ll stay better if I can get as far away from this place as possible.

I had made my decision. 

I would leave at 3 a.m.

The Change

About an hour before I planned to leave, I saw an incoming call from my best friend Sophia. 

She called me and told me everything I could ever want or need to hear. 

“It will all be alright. Amber, you’re not alone, not now and not ever,” she said.

She helped me understand I was enough, how I was worth it, and promised me if no one else was there, I could always count on her to help me out. She’s always kept her promise. 

She changed my mind, helped me recover and saved my life. She’s why I am still here today, but it wasn’t only her. I have many other wonderful systems of support including my family, close and distant relatives, and school teachers and counselors.

Somewhere Different

While I was in recovery, it took me a while to actually start eating. We got to choose what and when we ate rather than being pressured, forced, or tubed.

But, I still hated it, I lived in a different bed and couldn’t text anyone or even touch electronics. Most of my time in the beginning was spent writing in my journal in the darkness of my room while my other roommates played cards in the free space zone.

I tried sitting at the table to eat but it was like my hand was frozen and couldn’t grip any of the utensils.

Then, one day my roommate gave me a gesture for a hopefully newfound friendship: a fruit cup.

That was the first time I ate.

Going through my anorexia, I felt so alone, like I’d never recover. Like the voices in my head would never go away. Months of starving myself and years of insecurities can finally be settled down.

I still struggle everyday to keep up my good habits and refrain from falling back into my anorexia. Recovery wasn’t and still isn’t easy. But I know I’m getting there and I’m taking the steps to getting better.

To this day, I sit in my room and see that girl, so desperate to be worth something.

I see the girl who felt like she had no one. The girl who thought the world was against her. The girl who would sit in front of the mirror every morning and pick at each insecurity. But now, that girl can see each and every insecurity and can turn them into perfections. 

That girl has her brother and sister holding each of her hands, laughing at how much they’ve all grown.

She is still working to improve her relationship with her parents and will continue to put together the burnt bridges.

She has now been in a healthy relationship for the past year with a guy who shows her how special she is. 

That girl has made new friends who love her and support her though good and bad.

Plus, she now has goals and plans for her future.

That morning seemed like the start to the worst day of my life, like the end of the only world I knew. 

But really, that morning was a new day. The girl, this new girl, now stares into the mirror with a completely different image of herself and of the world.

That girl now flourishes and sees her fears and insecurities as a power. 

That girl grows from her past and uses it to help others from feeling alone like she did.