I am 3o years old and I have been sick for 2/3s of my life. When I was 10 years old, I developed anorexia and I have never looked back, so to speak. How strange that I have been disordered for twice as long as I was ‘normal’. Now this has become my normal. It is all I know and recognize. It is familiar, comforting. It orders my days, keeps me busy, entertains me at night, gives me something to do, helps me cope and I’m sure one day that it will kill me. I would let go of it, but like a good friend, it has never let go of me.
While other people eat breakfast or a piece of birthday cake or have dinner with friends, I count calories. I abstain. I obsess. I exercise. I starve. I binge. I purge. I wake up and repeat the pattern. Breakfast? I don’t think so.