Ten years
Hey all. It's been awhile. Work and school are both going well. My Research class is pretty difficult, but I think I'm getting it. I got a 94 on the first test last week, and I was pretty proud of that. I think it helps that I took undergraduate research not too long ago. We're finally starting to work more on the house. We need more money to do everything we want to do, but hopefully that is coming soon.
Ten years ago today I was diagnosed with anorexia. I'm not sure anyone remembers that but me, and maybe my mom since she was at the pediatrician's with me. February 13, 1997 was when someone put a label on me, but the real disease was going on long before that. I'd say it really started in the 4th or 5th grade. That's when I really started focusing on my weight and restricting myself. But February 13, 1997 was an important date because that's when the whole getting-help process began. I don't really think I hit rock bottom then. I still ate hardly anything, I was cold all the time (my hands used to turn purple), I still lost weight. I'm not sure there was an actual turning point in my recovery, a point where I wanted to get better and start eating. It happened very gradually, and I know it was helped by family and individual therapy and starting on Paxil. But I did recover, and I haven't relapsed. I'm still a very picky eater. Sometimes it's very hard for me to choose something to eat, especially at places like gas stations where it seems like everything is filled with calories. I think I was meant to be taller, and I'm sure all those years of eating hardly anything stunted my growth. I have days when I love my body and I have days when I hate it. I have to make a conscious effort not to run out and buy a scale so I can weigh myself all the time. I'll probably never really be "normal" when it comes to food and looking at myself in the mirror. But I'm still here. I ate a bowl of Frosted Flakes for breakfast this morning and thought nothing of it. I'm still here, and anorexia is not.
Ten years ago today I was diagnosed with anorexia. I'm not sure anyone remembers that but me, and maybe my mom since she was at the pediatrician's with me. February 13, 1997 was when someone put a label on me, but the real disease was going on long before that. I'd say it really started in the 4th or 5th grade. That's when I really started focusing on my weight and restricting myself. But February 13, 1997 was an important date because that's when the whole getting-help process began. I don't really think I hit rock bottom then. I still ate hardly anything, I was cold all the time (my hands used to turn purple), I still lost weight. I'm not sure there was an actual turning point in my recovery, a point where I wanted to get better and start eating. It happened very gradually, and I know it was helped by family and individual therapy and starting on Paxil. But I did recover, and I haven't relapsed. I'm still a very picky eater. Sometimes it's very hard for me to choose something to eat, especially at places like gas stations where it seems like everything is filled with calories. I think I was meant to be taller, and I'm sure all those years of eating hardly anything stunted my growth. I have days when I love my body and I have days when I hate it. I have to make a conscious effort not to run out and buy a scale so I can weigh myself all the time. I'll probably never really be "normal" when it comes to food and looking at myself in the mirror. But I'm still here. I ate a bowl of Frosted Flakes for breakfast this morning and thought nothing of it. I'm still here, and anorexia is not.