From the time I was little all I can remember is my grandma calling me fat, telling me I wasn't good enough. The countless comments about my body, my eating habits, and my health. When I was younger I was over weight. I weighed more in 5th grade than I do now. In 6th grade I went on a diet. That's when it really started. I always knew I didn't look like everyone else, but it never bothered me until my mom said, "Sweet heart, why don't you try a diet?" Everyday I spend obsessing over every ounce of food that goes into my body. I cry when I eat more than 600 calories. You're fat. You're fat. You're fat. Those two words are the words that run through my mind on a never ending cycle. I'm not fat though. When I lift my shirt you can see my ribs, my stomach sinks inward. But when I sit, I feel my fat moving and squishing into itself. Gone. I want it gone. I crave weight loss. I want to be skinnier. I'm not fat, but in my mind I'm the size of a cow. I starve myself, and cry two, sometimes three times daily about food. I spend every second obsessing over when I'm eating, what I'm eating, and how much. I can't escape it. I hate myself. I hate everything I see. I look in the mirror and I cry. My arms make me want to vomit, and my legs make me want to crawl into a hole. I can't enjoy anything. Everything always comes back to the food and the eating. It's unbearable. I wear hoodies in the summer, and don't eat popsicles with my friends. I avoid the questions by saying "I'm not hungry". Deep down, I'm starving. But, if you see me walking around in the halls, you wouldn't even take a second look. I'm not skinny like other anorexics. But I'm anorexic just the same. The thoughts of food keeps me up for endless hours, tormenting myself, hating myself. The guilt of eating something consumes me, and I'll think about it for 3 days straight. I exercise with the thought of the calories I'm burning, not my health. "You have to do this or you don't get to eat today" is what I tell myself. Three weeks ago I told my mom that I thought I had a problem (even though I already knew). I went to the doctor and she diagnosed me. She told me she wants to send me to the hospital because my heart rate is so low. I should be there right now. I begged her not to make me go, and she agreed if I promised to eat more. I am. It feels horrible. The guilt is over whelming. It never goes away. Honestly, I don't know if it ever will. My life revolves around food and eating. It never stops. Ever. I need it to stop. I'm going insane. I agonize over my next meal time, and how much food I have to eat. I split the portion in half, dumping it down the drain before my mom can see. She thinks I'm doing better than I am. I eat two meals everyday now. They're not big. I don't even eat all of it. But that's alright. Progress is progress. Anything is better than not eating at all. I cry before every meal, trying to build up the courage to eat it. But, in the end it will be worth it. I hope.
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