“I want to go home,” I whispered over and over. Tears ran down my face. I missed my home, my friends, and most of all, my family. I couldn’t go home, though – not until I got better. I had demolished my body, and it was time to start feeding myself again after a year of starvation. It was also time to accept that I had anorexia.

It all began in eighth grade. Until then, everything in my life had been pretty good. But I had always seen myself as overweight, so I decided to go on a diet. I saw plenty of skinny models and tiny actresses on TV, so I decided I would stop when I looked like them. That was when the misery started.

I refused to eat anything unless I knew exactly how many calories it had. Everything I ate made me feel guilty, even a piece of lettuce. I became weak and tired, yet I could never sleep. I had a tough time concentrating on anything except food. I was always counting calories to make sure I didn’t go over my limit. I felt horrible, but somehow I had convinced myself that I was getting healthy.

People looked at me and remarked how skinny I was, but I never believed them. My body was using the little energy it had left to fuel vital organs like my heart. As I starved myself, my hair fell out, my nails broke a lot, and I was constantly freezing. In the summer I wore sweatshirts and pants. Finally my mom saw what was happening and took me to the hospital. If she hadn’t, I think I would be dead today.

I was extremely upset to be in the hospital. At first I couldn’t stop crying, but finally I moved on and was just sad. I filled out a ton of papers, met my nurses, and got my room. The nurses were really nice and gave me a stuffed animal and a blanket. I got my first snack there. People complain a lot about hospital food, but everything tasted amazing to me because I had been starving myself for so long.

Eating became easier and easier. I started to enjoy food, though I still couldn’t admit it. I met other girls who had eating disorders, and it helped me to talk to them, since they understood what I was going through. Some of them were being discharged, which encouraged me to keep trying to get better. Some had returned because they were still battling anorexia, but that motivated me too. I knew I needed to try hard because I didn’t want to live my life in and out of hospitals.

The first thing the girls said to me was “Don’t say the F-word or the C-word.” I soon learned they meant fat and calories. I was quiet at first, but after a while I opened up. We played games and talked a lot. Soon I realized my eyes looked brighter and my skin had more color. My hair got shinier and my bones weren’t jutting out as much. It was time to go home. I was excited but scared I would fall back into my bad habits.

I’m home now but still battling anorexia. I’m so thankful for my family supporting me every day, even though I pushed them away at first. I’m also thankful for my best friend, who stuck by me. I now know that trying to be society’s version of perfect is unrealistic. Being thin is not worth ruining my life. Looking back, I see I was not the beautiful, petite girl I longed to be; I was a bony monster. My number-one goal is not to have a thigh gap or visible ribs; it’s to be happy. I can’t say I will ever be happy with my body, but I’m trying, and that’s a start.