subject line: I can't tell my mom.

 

habersham, georgia.

I’m better now. I haven’t made myself throw up or purposely skipped a meal because I was insanely terrified of the calories since I was 18. I’m 20 now. It’s been two years, so that must mean I’m better now, right? I sat in front of 15 teenage girls and talked to them about my issue and told them how I got over it and where I got my strength from. I was chosen to do this by a woman in my church because she thought these girls would get something out of my story. I told them about hope and beauty and love and overcoming obstacles with tears streaming down my cheeks. My “issue” has been on my mind ever since.

If I’m better... Why do I still feel guilty after finishing a full zaxbys meal? Why do I still look at myself in the mirror and specifically pinpoint my “problem areas”? Why do i search workouts on Pinterest every night and repin them to my “body goals” board? Why do I think that being 114 pounds and 5’3 at the age of 20 is too heavy? Why do I look at my reflection and see my loosely fitting adult small t shirt and think “I could be in a smaller size if I tried hard enough”?

Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t go back to the place I was in when I began to force my dinner back up 15 minutes after eating it if someone paid me a million dollars. It was dark and it was lonely. I was losing my mind as I was trying to lose weight & I won’t go back there. But I don’t think I’m better anymore. I think something’s wrong with me. I wish I believed what I told those teenage girls as much as they believed me.

I don’t know I guess I just needed to admit it to someone instead of hiding behind my “I have it all together now” demeanor. & I can’t tell my mom because she still looks at me with worried eyes when I can’t eat a full plate of spaghetti.