I was a fat kid. I was reminded of this fact at every mirror that caught my glance. Every name I was called. Every step that I took. Everyday, week after week, month after month,year after year. I had been living my life this way for as long as I could remember, my body tormented by an elusive metabolic illness. One that still has yet to be solved today. However, I could not wait for a cure. All I wanted was normal, and normal meant thin. It only took 14 years for me to realize that I controlled what I ate, and therefore what I looked like, what people thought of me, how many people loved me. At the age of 14, food was my enemy. I began restricting, ever so slightly at the beginning, yet it was something that I controlled. I loved control as much as I wanted to be thin. Exercise only added to this new thrill. I had found new comfort and a new friend. By 15, despite my efforts in restricting and exercising my weight had barely budged. Depression quickly ensued, only to be cured by the affection of more restriction and exercise. I knew I could be better; thinner. A year of restricting and measurements lead to speedy results. At the age of 16, I had reached my goal weight. I was happy for once with the way I looked. At that, I began to undo the enemy I had made food out to be. I restricted still, but less. And shortly after this fatal mistake, all my work was becoming undone, the pounds were flying back, along with the rejection, hatred, and depression. I began to restrict more than ever. What food I was pressured to eat was promptly purged. After some months of participating in this behavior, my weight still would not come down from the height it had soared up to. Then, one doctor's visit sent me to the ER, with a diagnosis of anorexia nervosa, followed by an ED inpatient program.
I still disliked myself and the doctors wanted to put more weight back on me. I physically recovered with a meal plan, one that was sent home under a dietitian's orders. After another month of following a weight maintenance plan my weight only kept climbing. My dietitian was clueless. I hated myself once again. I was angry at myself and the people who tried to help me. Recovery is no option for me at the moment, but I hope to see a day when it is. I starve. I purge. I yearn. This is where I am today. Also, I am male. No one suspects an ED with males, making it easy to use ED behaviors in broad daylight. But amidst my ED, is my immense suffering. I go through each day suffering and starving in front of people. None except my doctors know of my problems. I am also a closeted bisexual, which complicates things horrifically. All those I know and love would reject me if they knew who I truly was. They discuss their hatred of "those types of people" to my face. And I suffer in silence once again. Today was the day of my 17th birthday, This marks my third account of sitting through my birthday dinner with gum in my mouth; the third account of rejecting my own birthday cake; the third account of passively watching people celebrate me, something I cannot give myself good reason for. I am writing this with tears in my eyes and am doing so not just to get stuff off of my chest, but as a message to anyone who can relate to what I have been through, the pain and silent suffering. I encourage you to do not what I do, and be not who I am: a coward suffering in silence. I encourage you to use your voice and be brave, and most importantly enjoy life.
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