I once read a study that said that 80 percent of 10-year old girls have been on a diet. As I read that, my heart naturally began to sink into my chest. Its hard to understand how someone so young could feel that way about their bodies. Then I took a minute to realize how much I could relate.
I can remember vividly the first time I was ever genuinely upset. I was eight years old and I couldn’t stop crying. I didn’t know why. I was petrified I had never felt that way before. My mom put her arms around me, wiping the tears off my face, telling me it’d be okay—that I was fine.
It turns out, I wasn’t fine. I had hit puberty extremely early, when I was eight. Since then my hormones had been through the roof. I couldn’t control the way I was feeling, and these negative feelings began to happen more regularly.
As a result of hitting puberty so early, I was the first girl in my grade to have to wear bras. The boys and girls in my class, teasingly, would point out my boobs and tell me that I “jiggled” when I ran. I always faked sick so I didn’t have to go to recess or gym class. It was only the 3rd grade.
Though I had not begun to diet at such a young age, I developed this hatred towards myself which followed me for years to come.
Senior year of high school, I created this ridiculous penguin analogy for an essay because I thought it was sort of witty. At the time, I thought the analogy was kind of a stretch. But I believe it’s the best way to summarize the way I felt at the time. The essay read:
The penguin had no sense of direction; she used the polar bear as her guide. Little did she know, she was misled. Eventually, she was so lost, she didn’t even know herself.
I spent the majority of my life living in my best friend’s shadow. The toxic nature of our friendship was slowly killing me. Blinded by the fear of losing her as a friend, I lost myself.
Whatever she said, I did. I began starving myself, just to satisfy her. And when I did eat, I felt the cool toilet up against my face as I never kept it in my stomach. Much like my internal issues, all that I ate escaped me at once. I felt liberated through the process of sticking my fingers down my throat.
By the end of our friendship, I was broken. I was sick– both physically and mentally. Although she was no longer a part of my life, the feeling of inferiority followed me for years to come.
The penguin cried so much she melted the ice; drowning in the water: she blamed herself.
But slowly, I began to reinvent myself.
And somehow, I emerged as a completely different person. Someone I couldn’t have imagined myself ever becoming. I was no longer blinded by the past, but rather utilized the past to improve my future. I was no longer forcing myself to be happy; I had formed a genuine sense of self, which radiated throughout everything I pursued. I felt like a person who was capable of living her own life, rather than living within the shadows of someone else.
You may ask, “Well, what does that have to do with a penguin?” I’ve been trying to figure that out, and I believe I have found the answer. Although they don’t fully fit the classification, penguins are, in fact, birds. They are nature’s proof that you don’t need someone else to dictate who you are, or how you should pursue your life.
I am finding my way across the newly frozen ice. And never again would I ask a polar bear for advice.
But that penguin analogy I had made my senior year seemed to still follow me for years after.
At that point, I truly believed that I was on the path towards recovery, and I mean why wouldn’t I? I had been accepted into my dream school, I had great friends, I had a great family. I, for the first time, genuinely began to appreciate myself for all the little things that make me, well, me.
I began to embark on a path to self-improvement. I started jogging, eating healthy, drinking a lot of water. I felt great about myself, which was a feeling that I hadn’t really experienced much of before. I could look in the mirror and be satisfied with what I saw.
The summer before my freshman year of college, I was diagnosed with PMDD (Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder), which essentially a type of severe PMS. I began to let this label of PMDD define who I was each and every month. I’d fall into more rampant and severe cycles each month because I was so afraid of letting others know that I wasn’t okay.
The penguin peered into the water, unsure of what it was looking at. It was its own reflection.
When I came to college, I struggled to make friends at first like many incoming college freshmen. Almost immediately I sought making friends by going out. Those freshman year pregames were a great place to meet people, right?
It was a senseless cycle which involved me pulling all-nighters so I could go out every Wednesday, Friday and Saturday. Much like my high school self, I began to become obsessed with this work-hard/play-hard dynamic that I became physically and mentally exhausted.
I had created a parody Instagram account for myself, a finsta. Much like how I used playwriting, and making fun of myself, in high school as a therapeutic coping mechanism I used my finsta the same way. As I was going out and making poor choices, I kept having these funny stories, which I would document on my finsta and I’d receive immediate satisfaction.
In a way, through finsta I created a name for myself. I loved the attention. Actually, I craved the attention. But I created an image for myself, that wasn’t who I was, but it subconsciously created this out-of-control pressure that I couldn’t escape. It wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t me.
Despite my physical and mental exhaustion, I kept it up. I felt as if it was my obligation, if I didn’t keep up with the cycle I was weak. I was an outcast. I found it difficult to find time to exercise, so to compensate I began to eat much less.
I remember sitting there on the cold bathroom floor, at 2 a.m–to make sure nobody else would see. Bent over, with my knees pressed up against my chest. I was trying to remind myself to breathe through my nose and out through my mouth, anything to stop from sobbing. Placing my fingers down my throat, I felt liberated in the same way I felt in middle school.
As each month came around, my PMDD felt even worse than the month before. I felt as if I was living in a constant cloud of shame, embarrassed of the way I was feeling, the way I was acting. I was certain that nobody could relate. Nobody would understand. Everyone would judge me.
The tears of the penguin began to melt the ice, slowly the penguin began to drift away and away.
I began to lose myself in a way that was much different from the past. As I became so engrossed in this never-ending cycle of doing schoolwork and going out that I was losing sight of who I was. I began to cut myself off from those who cared about me, because I didn’t want them to know how I was feeling.
As the cloud of shame grew darker and darker, I found myself on the cold bathroom floor more and more frequently. I saw it as an escape. I knew I had the ability to stop the cycle, I had once before. I thought I had given up.
I bring this all back to the penguin metaphor that I had so cheesily wrote senior year. No matter what the penguin does, it cannot escape the cold ice. Looking back, the ice has been around me the entire time. The ice is my environment: my friends, my family, and most importantly, myself. I’ve learned that I can’t escape the way I feel. I can’t escape the ice. The cold bathroom floor is no longer my escape. The dark cloud of shame has begun to fade away and my life has become brighter.
I had written the majority of this months ago, and re-reading it has been somewhat triggering for me. But at the same time extremely satisfying. I can remember the exhaustion, the self-loathing, the guilt that I had felt. Recovery has changed me more than I had realized. I will never go back there.
Now I truly believe I’ve been on the path towards recovery. And of course, that isn’t to say that some days aren’t worse than others. Its important to remember that an eating disorder is a war, not a battle. It’s something that I know I will face for the rest of my life.
With this all being said, I know I’m not alone. This is simply just another narrative in the book of the millions of people who suffer from eating disorders each and every year. If you or anyone you know can resonate with anything, today is the day to get help. National Eating Disorder Awareness Week is going to take place from February 23rd- March 1st. Learn more about the campaign here: http://nedawareness.org.
Sources: http://www.refinery29.com/2015/01/81288/children-dieting-body-image