In Denial

“I don't have an eating disorder!”

I told myself this for over 8 months. I didn’t believe there was anything wrong when my mom saw that my eating had suddenly changed and asked directly what the hell I was doing. I didn’t believe I had an eating disorder months later when I was being driven to the hospital for the first time. I didn’t even think I had an eating disorder after I was freakin hospitalized. I guess you can say I was in denial.

After being in intense treatment for 7 weeks, I still didn't buy the whole I have an eating disorder thing. It just didn't seem right. Anorexic? Me? Nope. I was not that sick. I was not sick enough. (Spoiler alert: there is no sick enough when you have an eating disorder). I was waiting for proof that I had reached the sickest level. But apparently my ED voice never thought I did.

Looking back, I was clearly very sick. I often was too weak to get out of bed, I had a dangerously low heart rate, and my hair had begun to fall out. That’s sick.

But I remained in strong denial that there was anything that needed fixing.

Sometimes I ask myself why I was in denial. Why couldn’t I just accept the help and put an end to the torture. Because having anorexia is a torturous way to live. I hated it. But my ED thoughts were so powerful. Not only did I not feel skinny enough, I told myself I didn’t deserve the title of ‘anorexic’. I wasn’t worthy of being in the same category as girls who, I thought, were actually anorexic.

There was something about keeping my ED thoughts around that somehow made me feel skinnier. I know it sounds bizarre, but the ED bully made me feel safe. And if I accepted help, and I lost the control of my ED, I knew I would immediately gain weight. And I didn’t want to gain weight, so I remained in denial.

One moment that will stick with me forever was something my grandma told me. At one of my darkest moments, she whispered to me, “I want you to be at my funeral, not the other way around.” This shook me. Not only is this completely heartbreaking to hear from one of my favorite people in the world, but in that moment, it hit me. I clearly did have an issue. My grandma was so worried. I had to start accepting that I was sick, way past “sick enough” and it was time for me to start accepting the treatment too.

And slowly, I did start finding my way out of that dark hole. Even now, though, I still have to fight that ED voice. I guess if I am the biggest bully to myself, then no one else can ever hurt me. But that is not the life I want to live, so I accept that I need support, and I face that next meal.