my story begins five years ago when i was in high school. i had always been a dancer and spent my days in front of a mirror, but one day it registered in my brain that i had lost weight and my clothes fit more loosely. i liked it. i felt pretty. i wanted to get skinnier.
“only five more pounds. then i’ll be happy.”
but i never became any happier. in fact, i became miserable.
i was eventually diagnosed with anorexia and my internal battle began to consume my ever existence. i felt my self worth was based in the size of my clothes, the flatness of my waist, the number on the scale.
and i believed it. for four long miserable years.
my family was worried and my friends wanted me to stop, but i did’t listen.
eventually, i got to the point where my body could no longer function normally and i asked for help.
the doctors saved my life and my therapists began to teach my my life had value. people wanted me to stay alive. i wanted to stay alive.
it’s been almost a year since i was at my lowest weight, but that’s not to say it’s been easy. i’ve relapsed at times and taken steps back but i’m proud of my progress so far.
it’s a long road, and no one said it was easy, but i’m hoping to eventually make a beautiful recovery.