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I Am Worthless

The beginning.

I distinctly remember me at the age of 15, sitting on my knees in my Mom and Dad's living room in the position where your shins and feet are tucked under your thighs and it makes your thighs look twice as big as they actually are. You know that position? Up until that moment I was skinny in my own mind. I mean rail thin, I was lanky, no form to my body. I ate like a bottomless pit, really, and I never really had an "unhealthy" relationship with food or my body. If anything, I wanted to have a little more meat on my bones, but you know, in all the right places. 


That warm afternoon, in my little yellow shorts, I looked down and saw for the first time that my thighs no longer looked like they used to. I looked "fat". What was this thing that I had started to feel? Everything followed beyond that moment. I would sit down and catch a glimpse of myself in a full length mirror and I would notice little dimples on my thighs. Cellulite. I would notice my stomach bubbling over the buttoned area of my pants. Rolls. I would see the jiggling of my calf or under arms. Fat.


I began my sophomore year of high school thinking that I would get in shape. I would take gym class seriously this time, and I would start a work out plan. The whole year of 10th grade I got really in to working out, and didn't think much of it, it was honestly my Junior year when I noticed things were really wrong. 


Lunch didn't seem healthy enough for me to eat, no matter what the school served, so first I just began to feel guilty when I ate it. I started to notice what calories were and why or how I was eating so many of them and how I could be healthier and maybe even become a vegetarian and lose a few pounds. Nothing drastic, just a few pounds. I was 124 pounds at this time.


Not too long after the guilt set it, I decided the easier thing to do would be skip the meal so I didn't feel guilty about eating it. Lunch. Just lunch. This all too familiar voice in my head kept saying, "Don't eat that, it isn't worth it." I was saving my lunch money and not eating lunch. No one really thought anything about it, I was just the girl who was "not hungry" a lot more often. 


I looked into the mirror more and more full of hate for myself, and for my body. I worked out more and more. I did the usual things someone with an eating disorder does and didn't even know that is was what was wrong with me. Every inch of my body was coated with "fat". The feeling of swallowing food felt like poison sliding down my throat. I brushed my teeth so many times a day to prevent myself from eating because, "I just brushed my teeth, no thank you," I had anxiety during meals, I weighed myself in secret, I tracked my food, I sat at night and tugged and pinched at my body wondering why it had so much fat on it, looking in the mirror was like I lived in a funhouse that I couldn't escape. How do you tell someone that this is happening to you? How do you tell your parents that this is happening to you? 


I looked at my bones and thought they were beautiful. The deeper the pit around my collar bone became the more I found myself motivated not to eat. The more beautiful I became when I could see the bones in my wrists poking out. I felt better knowing that I wasn't far from being able to wrap my small hand around my upper arm with no resistance. I could count the ribs along my frail body, and my hips bones began to have blisters from my jeans. I was 108 pounds at this time. The larger the thigh gap the more worthy I was. But the thing was...I never became more worthy, really. I never felt better. Nothing made me feel better about my body except losing weight. Or at least this is one of the lies that my mind told me. 


I was lying to everyone I loved. My boyfriend at that time, his parents, my parents, best friends, family and even friends who were not so close to me. "Yeah, I'm fine," I would tell them, "Oh, no I ate before I left I'm really not hungry." "Yes, Mom, I ate at school." So many lies. You know, normal teenager things happen to you at 15 and 16. Breakups, bad grades, friendships ending, feeling lost, new tastes of freedom that you aren't ready for, you know-typical teenage stuff. My way to deal with them seemed to be leaning on an eating disorder. One full of lies that brought me nothing but misery. 

Coming clean. 

A healthy relationship with a new boyfriend seemed to bring about this burn for me to come clean. To be totally honest with him. But I was so scared. What will he say? What will he do? Who else will he tell? I had gotten so good at suppressing this huge thing that the thought of it actually all coming out was a terrifying thought. I didn't know if telling anyone meant judgement (which I was afraid of), but of course it did. Thats inevitable. It didn't mean it was bad. It just meant it was scary. Anything I could have control over, I controlled. What if people thought I was making it up?Even though people told me I looked thin, what if I wasn't "skinny enough" to be anorexic? These fears plagued me while I battled. Battled the guilt, the hatred for myself, the exhaustion, the lies, the hair loss, the being cold al