because I believed it did not exist. The most frustrating part of opening up about this to someone is the immediate, defensive reaction of them complimenting you. Sure, calling someone skinny may seem supportive, but glorifying this idea of perfection can actually do more harm than good. More importantly, at least in my situation, it disregards the underlying issue at hand: a person struggling to understand their body dysmorphia. There were countless times I wish I had confided in a friend earlier because that itching to self-destruct burnt like hell. My envy of those who are able to live their lives without ever letting their body control them only escalates this frustration of feeling misunderstood. I’m envious of those who can eat a whole plate of fried rice without ever feeling guilty, because the temptation of throwing it all up would still haunt me. Even today, after having put the purging behind
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me, I’m still waiting for the moment when I come to peace with my body. Being at war with your own body is exhausting. And when you are alone in this war, it leaves scars that cut deeper than the ones on your knuckles. For two years, I kept telling myself that only stick-thin girls could have eating disorders. When I Googled eating disorders, those people didn’t look like me. When I took those tests determining whether or not you had body dysmorphia, I lied to myself with every click: Do you deliberately check your features more than 30 times a day? No. Are you unhappy with the way you look? Sometimes. The moment I broke away from my denial and saw my habits for what they truly were remains a bittersweet memory I’m grateful for. I’m thankful that the ounce of self-love I held onto encouraged me to end the excessive workouts, purging
sessions, and unnecessary punishments for eating more than 700 calories a day. And for the very few people in my life who didn’t make me feel as helpless and unlovable as I made myself out to be, your love has made light of such a suffocating part of life that I thought would never escape me.
I’ve found the willpower to not act upon them, it does not mean they are forever erased from my conscious — it’s a part of me that I’m still learning how to balance with everyday life. My struggle with body dysmorphia is one I know will take a lifetime to overcome, if that’s even possible.
I’d be lying if I said I’ve come full circle from this tumultuous ride. It’s an everyday battle fighting off each hurtful comment I attribute to myself, and gaining the weight back has shattered a substantial amount of my self-confidence. While I acknowledge that these thoughts are part of an unhealthy illusion, it simply cannot dismiss my persistent dissatisfaction with my body. Even after stopping the bulimia — a milestone I expected to spark selfacceptance — I still pick apart every inch of my body. As my ribs and hipbones have become less prominent, I still find it impossible to fully ignore the “easy” fix my old habits produced. Just because
Eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of any mental illness. Every 62 minutes, at least one person dies as a direct result from an eating disorder. Please take the time to learn more about disordered eating. Please learn to be patient with a problem you may not fully understand. And if you find yourself in that hopeless, isolating place, please confide in a loved one. You have no idea how grateful they’ll be.
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