I’ve dealt with depression since I was young, when I was in Grade Four. Although it got really bad when I was in Grade Six, my condition calmed down for a few years and only popped back up around the time when I was transitioning from Grade Nine to Grade Ten. Before too long, the depression got to the point where I attempted to take my own life.
Things got better for me once I was put on medication. The medication improved my perception, which meant that I had all the same thoughts, but I experienced them differently. I saw cars as just cars; I didn’t think about jumping in front of them. The same with baths and knives and ropes. They were just harmless objects.
When the pills stopped working, however, I stopped taking them. They made me feel numb. I later found out that the pills stopped working because I had become anorexic.
I was diagnosed with anorexia nervosa on November 9, 2017, and I’ve been consciously anorexic for roughly two years.
The good news is that I’m being treated now. I’m in recovery.
My therapist has told me that I didn’t just one day decide to stop eating; the disorder grew inside me for a long time before I decided to skip my first meal. Although I had been consciously anorexic for two years, I realized that I had started having anorexic thoughts and subconsciously restricting food for about six years. I had always eaten less than everybody else, but I’d thought that was normal. It wasn’t. It got really bad over time—to the point where I was eating a granola bar per day.
I was always trying to make it to 24 hours without food. I got there once, and then I felt sick when I finally ate again. I was so weak. Always dizzy and cold. You could see my ribs, hips, spine, and collar bones. My pinkie and thumb could reach around my wrist, and my waist was smaller than my thigh. I was in rough shape, but the minute I thought about eating I became disgusted. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.
One day, my boyfriend told me that if I didn’t get better, he and I couldn’t have a future together because I wouldn’t be healthy enough. He told me that he would be there to support me, but that I needed to get help.
That’s when I realized that my eating disorder wasn’t just affecting me—it was also affecting the people I loved, and I just couldn’t do that to them.
So I went and got help.
Over the summer, I was admitted to the hospital. I remained there for a grand total of eight weeks and was discharged on August 17. I’m still seeing a therapist and dietitian to keep me on track, as I have started college, which introduces a whole new world of stressors.
But I can do this. I know I can.
I want to be open about my journey to help reduce the stigma around mental health. I believe that I’m a good advocate for mental health, because I’ve been there. I know what it’s like and I want to support all those people who feel like they’re nothing and have nothing left. My heart goes out to them.
I’ve had family issues, I’ve had depression, I’ve had anxiety disorders, and now I’m beating an eating disorder. I’ve been to some really dark places and I came out alive. I think it’s important for people to see a success story.
