Friends, I am struggling.

My worries pale in comparison to those around me, those who worry about where their next meal is coming from rather than its caloric composition. But, I still feel as though with every corner I turn, I meet a wall. And I just can’t seem to escape it. I’ve tied chains around my ankles, straight-jacketed myself, covered my lips with duct tape. And for what? A smaller body? More defined abs? Thinner arms, thinner legs, thinner skin??

Why do we do this to ourselves?

Why do we painstakingly enter every exact calorie into the food log, checking it against calories burned, KICKING ourselves if the difference is too small? How did it get this way?

I never used to worry about calories. I am a runner. In high school, I ran track and cross country, so I figured that I burned more than I ate. I was more focused on performance rather than physique. But now, in college, on Instagram, I find myself constantly comparing my body to others. “Look at her! Look at her thin legs, thin arms, thin, thin thin thin thin”

What a horrible word. Such a word wraps itself around our brain, tickling our deepest worries and fears with its promises. “You too can be thin… just don’t eat that. Or that. In fact, go run until you pass out. That’ll make you thiiiin.”

Constantly. Constantly. Constantly. Thin.

I train for a least an hour and a half every day. I love working out. I love that others love working out. I love that our nation is taking the exercise world by storm, exploring new facets of movement and muscle.

But I hate food.

My friends don’t understand the whole concept of “calorie counting” And with their 18 year old metabolisms, they really don’t have to yet. But I sit next to them, broccoli and carrots littering my plate, and watch them eat cookies and ice cream and cake. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

I love veggies. I don’t really like dessert (honestly). But I want that abandon that they have, in a way. I want to be able to stuff 3 snickerdoodles in my mouth, with a “who cares” attitude, and then not worry about it for the rest of the night.

I want to be free of the shackles that I put on myself.

I can be so cruel when my calories creep past 2000. I can be so horrible when I eat yogurt raisins, or have too much cereal in the morning. It’s like this monster crawls out of the very depths of my brain, and begins scratching at my skull.

“Girl!” it yells, its voice echoing. “Don’t you want to be thiiiiin?”

And the thing is, I do.

I do want to be thin.

I do want the thigh gap, the protruding collar bones, and the thin arms lithe with muscles. I want people to comment, to say “Wow! You look great!” and I want to smile, and say “Thanks!”
The worst thing is, I want my PARENTS to notice. I want them to see that I am thiiiin. I have no idea why. Perhaps there is a psychology term that could describe it. But I want them to notice.

I want everyone to notice. It’s so horrible, sometimes. When you feel bloated, you feel like everyone can see the little pouch that sometimes hangs over the pants. So you wear sweatpants. And a sweatshirt. And maybe a paper bag over your head, for safety.

No one can see the fat. It’s all hidden.

The little monster smiles. “Yes. Hide it all. You are unworthy.”
How did I end up like this? How did calories and gaining weight become the two things I fear most in the world?

Today, I stepped on the scale. I’ve been doing it more often now. I used to have a pact with myself- your weight DOES NOT matter. Muscle weighs more than fat anyway. Then I would go and enjoy my mom’s homemade pumpkin muffins.

But today, I stepped on the scale. The pact was broken long ago, when I began to notice that my thighs are too close together, my arms not thin enough. I told my mom to stop making pumpkin muffins.

It was down 4 lbs. from when I last weighed myself. My lowest in years. I was happy. I wasn’t getting fat- no! Not me. Not today.

The little monster purrs. “Thiiiin.”

He scares me.

I scare me.

How did I get this way?

I still eat. But it’s horrible, calculating calories as you take each bite. Putting it into the food log, painstakingly. “Okay” I say, tallying up the results. “I can only have this much at dinner because I AM A PIG WHO CANNOT CONTROL HERSELF.”

I had had too many almonds. One must be careful with portion sizes.

The little monster nods, growing larger, fatter, taking over more and more of me. I feel as though I am shrinking.

This has happened before. I was a sophomore in high school. It was different though. My parents knew. Now, I am away at college, so they don’t know. They don’t know the calorie restrictions. They don’t know that food is constantly what I think about.

Sophomore year, it was just something that happened. It wasn’t entirely forced, I was simply sad. A guy I liked ended up dating one of my best friends (they are still together, 4 years later). Devastation wreaked my 15 year old body. If I wasn’t good enough for him, I wasn’t good enough for anyone! No one would want to be with me. I would be lonely forever.

Lonely. Lonely. Lonely.

I snapped out of that funk. Junior year, I never thought about food. I followed the sweet mantra of “Eat to live, don’t live to eat.” That was probably my “healthiest” mental state. Senior year was different. I have an athletic figure, and I began to notice it more.

Smaller girls joined the team. Thiiiin girls. Thin legs, thin arms, thin stomachs. Extremely nice, wonderful people. But I felt monstrous next to them. However, I still ate, and I ate enough. I was healthy. A little sad, but I didn’t let it get me down too much. I ran and ran and ran, and had my best seasons ever.

Now.

Now.

Now.

I dropped 10 pounds my first semester of college.

Up until a few days ago, this worried me. “I’m too small!” I thought. “I am going to get injured, or break, or wither away into nothing!” (However, I still kept the same diet that got me down)

I was reading a Runner’s World magazine, combing it for workouts. I stumbled upon a profile of an amateur female runner. She was taller than me. But weighed just as much.

The monster growled at me. “And you thought you were TOO thin. There’s no such thing. No such thing.”

My mindset shifted. If she and I were both the same weight, but I was shorter, did that make me… fat? Was I fat? Or was she just genetically predisposed to weighing less?

The latter, although entirely sensible and probably quite true, didn’t matter nearly as much as the former. The f-word haunted me the rest of the day.

How did I get this way?

I reel inside at the thought of people reading this, of judging me. They will show it to their friends, offended by my fears. “If she thinks fat is bad, then she is WRONG!”

I am wrong.

Fat is not bad.

I know this.

We are all humans, made different ways, with different bodies, different lives, and different souls.

But that doesn’t stop the monster from scratching against my skull, reminding me.

“I’ll always be here.” He whispers, curled up in the recess of my mind. “I won’t ever let you enjoy that homemade pumpkin muffin ever again.”

And I’ll nod.

Because how do you protect yourself from your mind?