The best question is "Why?"

If I could answer, I think I'd be even more disgusted with myself than I already am. You see, there's up days and down days, I'm not a dedicated soul and I don't have a gag reflex. I find heavy girls gorgeous and I cried the day my boobs shrank and my jeans no longer fit. But I'm an anorexic because I look at food and I just don't want it.
It sounds simple. It sounds naïve. It sounds like I'm simply a small child, pushing away a plate of broccoli stubbornly, a refusal to touch something that they don't know and are somehow conditioned into thinking is bad. I happen to love broccoli.

And on some days I happen to love food. I love people's reaction to food. I love the simple happiness on some ones face when you present them there favorite meal. I love food's ability to trigger a memory to make people smile, to take people back to their grandma's house on a Sunday afternoon.
However as this lap top is precariously set on my jagged hip bones, all I can see is the lump of belly fat looming over the edge. Maybe I should put a shirt on instead of just a sports bra, maybe I should do some sit ups, maybe I shouldn't eat anymore. Maybe if I go tomorrow without food and take a long walk this will get better. Maybe I'll get better.

My mom decided one day that she would make me better. She would force me to plan my meals, eat five of them a day because that's the healthy way. There couldn't have been a worse decision. Because it's more than "I don't want it." It's grasping blindly for control when I feel like I no longer have any. That's what an eating disorder is, it's control. It's an AP class on top of college applications on top of high pressure academic competitions. It's refusing to allow myself food until I finished that homework packet, or had a bad day? I don't deserve food. It's staying awake at night staring at the ceiling, contemplating how I could be better. I didn't try hard enough, I didn't work out, I didn't get the score I wanted. I got in a fight. The sky was grey. The sky was blue. The grass was green. I'm still not eating.

The night before I told my mom I had an eating disorder, I wanted to eat. I had eaten only one meal a day for weeks. I so badly wanted the pasta we were eating that night at the academic decathlon dinner. I got a bite into my mouth before my brain started going. Fat. Ugly. Idiotic. You know you won't be able to concentrate with all of that food in you. Everyone was looking at me, I never ate, why was I eating now? I went outside to finish my meal, hovering over a trashcan, now instead of grasping at an empty stomach I was lunging toward freedom, freedom from my own mind and trying desperately to put food into my stomach. Fighting to stay living.

My best friend came out, concerned by my absence. He must have always had one eye on me because he always knew when I left, whether it was physically or mentally. He stood there and begged me to take another bite. And another. Until I had eaten 3 bites and I couldn't anymore, I threw it away. It tasted so good but my head and my stomach and my body couldn't handle it. I took off then, the way I handle most other problems, running away. He followed only to find me on the ground. Beating it with my fists as though this inanimate concrete ground was the source of my misery. I was screaming then.

I wanted to change.

I wanted control.

I wanted freedom.

That was the lowest I have ever been. He caught me and held me and sat with me like I was a child. I am just a child. Maybe that's the worst part of all. I was sixteen. I have been dealing with off and on anorexia since I was eleven. Since the very first time someone called me fat. Since the first time someone called me ugly. That brought me low and when I'm low, I don't want to eat. And hey, look at me, I'm not fat anymore. No instead my shoulder bones are exposed like angel wings, my veins shine iradescent blue under milky skin, a deep contrast to the purple that lies under my eyes.

So I ask you now, am I pretty yet? Am I in control? Is my life on the fast track toward happiness? 

I find comfort in living off mint chewing gum. 

My favorite food is M&M's. 

I weigh 109 pounds. 

Some nights I can't sleep. 

I cry at unexpected moments. 

My heart betrays me. 

I'm nervous and psycho and depressed and sad oh so sad. 

I'm not in control.

And I had an eating disorder.

And I'm telling this because I swear, it does get better. That sounds entirely silly after my entire spiel up above, but it's true. These thoughts may never go away completely. But it's okay to be a little bit out of control, it's okay to take life and hold it in your hands and love it. Appreciate it like you would a beautiful painting, a soft kitten, a delicate rose. Because it's your life, all yours, and it's worth something because you are worth something, promises.