Toxic Relationship

"You're still eating?" my mom asked lightheartedly. Deep down I knew she was judging me, although she would never admit it. Embarrassed with flushed cheeks, I discarded the rest of my food and set my plate in the sink. I then shuffled to the restroom to take a shower to rid myself of my shame. I stripped off my clothes but I couldn't seem to strip my eyes off the mirror. I didn't think it was possible for me to feel worse about myself as I was standing there, squeezing my body fat wishing I could just cut it off. The comment my mom made, engraved in my brain, replayed non stop whenever I would pick up a piece of food. I don't tell many people this, maybe because I'm scared of judgment or people pitying me, but I've suffered through an eating disorder, multiple actually. I wish I could say it was just a phase but if I'm being honest, I've carried it with me for most of my life, I just didn't know it.

 

It's freshman year of high school. I wasn't fat per say but compared to the girls who I surrounded myself with, I felt like those meaty seals on the beach that never seemed to move. Some girls would wear low-rise booty shorts with a crop-top that revealed their entire midriff. Then there was my outfit, tummy tucking with anything high-waisted. I sat in class, with a little fat spilling over the waist of my shorts, yet my stomach would grumble angrily at me because I had yet to feed it. During lunch time I finally caved and treated myself to a two hundred calorie bag of low fat baked chips. To fully enjoy my meal I would chew at least 10 times for every bite I took. When I got home I would weigh myself and even with my 200 calories I consumed, I had lost weight. This was my daily ritual. My method was working and I was ecstatic. All I could focus on was getting the number down on the scale to the point where I barely drank water to weigh less. Before I knew it, I had gone down 20 pounds and thought I looked amazing. My collar bones were popping out, I had a flat tummy, and as for my boobs, gone, nonexistent. 

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Fast forward a year. I was on a relatively normal diet with two meals a day, skipping breakfast. That's what most people do right? I had gained around ten pounds but still looked fairly thin. One night, sophomore year of high school, I finished eating dinner with my family and headed to the bathroom to weigh myself, slightly nervous of what the scale would read. I stepped on the scale, looked down, and was in utter shock. Two pounds. I had gained two pounds in one night. Frantically I paced back and forth in that tiny bathroom trying to figure out what to do. Purge. Just purge, I told myself. I won't get into too much detail because it is a little grotesque, but that's exactly what I did, I purged. I thought it was the most repulsive thing I could have ever done and I swore to myself I would never do it again. But that's the thing with self promises, no one knows so there's no harm in breaking it. Little did I know that I had just started purging just for it to become a habit after every meal. It didn't matter where I was. If I wasn't home, there would be a voice in my head nagging me to come up with an excuse to go home, and I did. Every. Single. Time. Eat. Purge. Weigh myself. 

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Soon enough it was time for me to leave that home, the privacy of that tiny bathroom. It's freshman year of college. How was I supposed to do my business in a communal bathroom? I couldn't bring myself to purge. Days passed without me purging and after a while the urge started to fade away. I didn't have a scale and honestly I felt more free, able to eat meals without obsessing over my weight. I still had self control though and maintained a healthy diet. During Thanksgiving I was finally back home with my family and as soon as I announced I was done eating my mom commented, "that's all you're going to eat"?