What it’s like living with an eating disorder

It was a sunny morning and mom had just called me down from bed. With heavy feet, sleepy eyes and a weak body I dragged myself to the bathroom. Of course, just like every other morning, the first thing I did was make my way to the scale. I stepped on, looked down and it was like time stood completely still.

While mom was getting ready for work, I turned around and looked at her with hollow eyes. Only my eyes had never been this echoing before. I had officially done it…I had officially dropped below 70 pounds. To my amazement, I wasn’t excited, I wasn’t happy, I wasn’t even glad I did it…I was so mentally, physically and emotionally exhausted that there was no victory dance or cheer – Instead, I dropped to the floor sobbing, begging for help.

This was not a low moment in my life. This was actually a high.

While curled up in the ball, wondering when all the pain was going to stop, I had this moment of peace. A moment of pure bliss. I honestly have no idea what it was but it was a moment in time I will never forget. It was the moment I knew this was the beginning of the end. This was the beginning of recovery. This was the beginning of getting Megan back.

Me on an eighth grade field trip

You may be wondering when this whole disease took over my body but I cannot tell you a specific day because that is not how the disease works. It’s a build up, it creeps up on people because there is no physical evidence on/in your body. For me it all started in junior high. I had matured physically, mentally and emotionally a lot faster than any of my friends but it never really bothered me until junior high.

It was the year we could officially start participating in athletic events, I had always been an active person throughout my entire life because I grew up around quite a few boys and played countless sports. It was second nature to me so of course when the time came I wanted to try anything and everything.

Many of my friends were joining cross country and so I gave it a shot. We had a running club in the summer for any students in school who wanted to come out and run with a group. Of course, being the perfectionist I am, I never missed a morning. The girls who were planning to join cross country were given workout plans and goals to accomplish over the summer and before the season started.

During this time, we had to log everything we did and ate. This was the first spark to everything. Anyone who knows me personally knows I do not like to lose, I am a huge perfectionist and extremist, I never can say no, and I will push myself until the task at hand is accomplished. But most of all, I am my own worst enemy. So of course, I never took shortcuts with the different workouts I did, I cut out all sweets and would constantly compare my results with my friends.

Seventh grade birthday party. I’m the one on the left

This lead to my obsession with being perfect. When all us girls would meet up for the day in the summer we would always talk about what we ate. When some started saying nothing, I started to eat less. When some said they ran five miles, I would go and run six. Its not that I wanted to be the superstar I just wanted to be the best I could for myself. I wanted to push myself to my limits because I thought that’s what you were supposed to do.

So on top of the competition of eating the least and exercising the most, I was kind of always seen as one of the guys. There were never really guys interested in me during my grade school years, whereas my friends had boys texting them left and right. I was the girl that was always there but kept to herself. Its not like I wouldn’t talk or have fun, I had a blast, but I started to have other things on my mind.

It’s when the constant loop in my head started. I wanted to make sure I exercised enough, didn’t eat too much and figure out how I could be like the rest of the girls. So, I figured if I dropped weight and ran faster I would become more noticed, people would like me more, I would be the one people would come talk to first. Yes, I ran around with the “popular” crowd but I never really felt popular. I started feeling more and more like an outsider.

The further I got into the obsession with making myself perfect the more I lost touch with myself. The scale became my new best friend. I looked up ways to burn the most calories and while eating the least amount. My brain was filled with numbers. The more numbers, caloric counts I memorized, serving sizes and proportions I reiterated the closer and closer my OCD came and set in.

I started having the mind set that if I did something a certain way it would make the constant voice of “don’t eat that, run don’t walk there, you have to stand don’t sit” go away. If I chewed something a certain number of times, I wouldn’t have to eat as much. Or, if I ran up and down the steps in the morning before school a certain number of times I wouldn’t have to work out after (no matter how many times I ran them, I still always worked out after).

With the obsessive exercise, not eating right and my OCD in full force, it started leading to the results I had been hoping for. The numbers on the scale kept going down. The number was less and less, when it wasn’t I would start to beat myself up emotionally, tell myself I was doing something wrong. I needed to be perfect because that’s the only way I thought the constant loop of negativity in my head would stop.

So, as school started up and so did practice, I became more anxious. I started going out with friends less on the weekends because I was afraid they would want to go get ice cream or something I shouldn’t eat. I wanted to eat it, but I just couldn’t do it. So instead I would just stop putting myself in situations where something like that would come up.

Eighth grade grad. I’m on the left.

This was the exact opposite of what I needed. As friends became more distant, my eating disorder became stronger. I eventually had teachers coming up to me asking if I was okay because I was starting to look lost. One teacher I had been close to since I was young told me she physically saw me there but the Megan she knew and loved wasn’t. She contacted my parents, they said they had noticed several changes but had no idea what to do.

This was the moment I went to the doctor. He advised me to no longer participate in cross country and set me up with a therapist. I was devastated but this only increased my exercise routine at home, especially since I didn’t connect with this therapist and I felt there was nothing which could help. I was in a downward spiral and I just couldn’t stop myself. I had lost the Megan I knew and I didn’t know what else to do, so I continued with what I had been doing for months at that point.

A week or two later was the moment I found myself curled up on the bathroom floor. My parents were on the phone with my family doctor, my dad was holding my mom while she was sobbing and all I could see in the daze was my brother standing in the doorway. I just remember how upset he was. I just remember his face. It will forever be ingrained in my mind.

My family doctor advised us to immediately go to Cincinnati Children’s Hospital. I didn’t say a word the entire way there but instead thought what could I do to change the look on my brother’s face. He was my world, the guy I looked up to, he was my protector, he was the one I did everything with, up until the point where I started loosing myself. At the time, I wanted to do everything to change the way he looked at me that morning but now I know it was out of love and that was his defense mechanism.

My brother and I lost our connection for awhile during my time in the hospital. I was admitted for fourteen days, on bed rest the entire time. I saw my dad cry for the first time in my entire life as I laid there in my hospital bed, that’s when I knew just how bad I was, that’s when I knew I was close to dying.

There are only certain moments I remember during my time there, honestly the rest was a huge blur. I had family come and visit but I couldn’t tell you who. My friends did come but the way they looked at me is no way I would wish upon anyone. They all tried their hardest to be normal, but they couldn’t hide their true emotions.

I blamed myself for a lot of what happened and it took me a long time to think otherwise. I blamed myself for putting my parents through all this pain. I blamed myself for thinking I was ruining part of my brother’s life, I blamed myself for ruining our relationship. I blamed myself for losing my friends. I especially blamed myself for loosing my true self. I thought what was wrong with me? Why would I ever put all these people I loved with every being I had through all this pain?

Freshmen homecoming

Even after I was released from hospital these thoughts continued. I slowly started going back to school, started with half days at first. I tried my very hardest to be normal again, always had a smile on my face even though I was hurting so much on the inside. My brother didn’t really talk to me, my friends were distant and I was so very lost. A couple months later I relapsed. I was admitted to the Lindner Center of Hope for seven days. This is where I learned the real truth about my disease. This is where my real recovery began.

After released from the Lindner Center, I went to several therapy secessions and checkups. I learned cooping skills and how to stop blaming myself. This is where I started to get Megan back.

What most people do not realize is an eating disorder is a disease. This is hard to understand because there are no scars, there are no stitches or anything psychically altering to show people at the end of it all. There’s only the memories of the dark days. The tough days where I wasn’t even sure if I was going to make it out of bed. But there are also the memories of those days where I could see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Now

Without the help and endless support of my family and friends, without the help of my doctors and therapist I could not be here to tell my story. I am now attending Ohio State and in my third year. I have made friends I know I couldn’t live without and me and my brother are the closest we’ve ever been. Not everyone is as blessed to have the support system I did, but I just wanted to give hope to those people struggling now.

It can be done. You can get yourself back. I did it! Let me be your inspiration. It is hard but trust me, all the pain and sorrow, all those hard days where you wonder if you can crawl any further are worth it. But the only person who can make you better is yourself. You are the only one that can start your recovery. You are the only one which can stand up at the end of the day and say you want to get better. I did it. I am alive. I am happy. I am healthy. I am a survivor and you can be too.

@TheTab