My Story

I don’t know who you are, and you don’t know who I am. But I want to share what I can to turn a new leaf; and reveal the me that is no longer hiding behind a false career ambition, a thousand pictures in bikinis, several hundred happy captions below “my life is so great” photos; and, beginning my point, a severely malnourished body. I suffer from Anorexia Nervosa, a mental illness that shuts down the brains survival skills when it comes to nutrition.

Content Warnings: *Graphic images, ED language (i.e., calories, weights, etc.), self-harm.

Notes:

• This is not a victim story, nor should any story of recovery be; however, I think it's important to give specific ideas of baselines to emphasize the range of progress found in the aftermath.

• It is debated on whether or not photos of ED's are appropriate; however, I am someone who believes they can be if utilized appropriately. Physical appearance is one of the strongest constituents in a person's hold on an ED. Showing the physical progress can be incredibly encouraging for others, as it was for me. For many, it also serves as evidence of recovery from their ED. Other's experience no change in their bodies whatsoever, and that is normal as well!

• Curly and Jud are fictitious names set in this blog to conceal the identities of involved persons.

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Introduction: Anorexia Nervosa

My story is very long, but that's due to how important each minor detail is. There is no insignificant event or emotion in one's journey; each experience is important in some shape or form--who knows what would have happened next had you not __ or felt __?

There are a lot of misconstrued ideas about the disease, such as, “It’s a fear of gaining weight,” or, “It’s a fear of food.” But, it's so much more than that. Anorexia was my way of controlling my life when it felt unmanageable. It was my way of compensating for the things I was told or believed I wasn’t good at, the things I couldn’t be, and the false ideas that I had believed about myself. I believed that I was a bad person. I believed that if I could control one thing that people couldn’t negatively judge, I would have peace. Growing up in the 2000's, the body isn't just a body to most teenagers; it's the key to positive attention, relationships, confidence and most notably, validation.

(2007-2016) Childhood: Self Harm Behaviors

My mental health has always been a touchy subject. I was very violent towards both myself and others as a child, and I began to experience suicidal ideations alongside self-harm behaviors younger than the average kid. I felt that my vulnerability was a weakness, so I became the funny friend; the theatre kid; the weird girl with "nice" breasts. and the out-of-pocket/shock value girl--all distractions to hide the parts of me that I was fearful of.

However true they were, these identities were unfulfilling at the time. Something I discovered about myself in treatment was that I clung to any label--bad or not--and attached it to my self-concept throughout life. Pretending that I enjoyed these labels gave me the illusion of control over other people's perceptions. I always needed an identity to hold onto. The first one began in fifth grade: Cheerleader.

I began competitive cheerleading after several years of sideline REC. I was in 5th grade and my uniform was a piece of fabric. I was being thrown by 6th-8th graders who were beginning to transition into their mature bodies. At first, I didn't feel shame. I simply noticed that I didn't look like them. However, by the end of my first season, I was standing in front of the mirror and pinching my armpits every night before I went to bed. What is this? I looked up to my older teammates. They were older, stronger, and more experienced.

September, 2011

March 17th, 2014

I continued what became my life of cheerleading. I ate like an athlete, because I was an athlete. Food was simply fuel. I ate when I was hungry, and I didn't eat when I wasn't hungry. By 8th grade, I had started to notice that I had abs and lean limbs. I received praise from cheer moms and coaches for my, "ideal figure," or, "having the body that everyone wants." A common comment was: "You're a sexy little thang!" I was 13.

(2017) Phase 1: Validation v. Entering Performing Arts

While cheerleading was my life, it was more of a way to express my love and passion for performance. I had wanted to be a "singer" since I was a toddler, and I met a life-changing teacher in high school who opened my life up to a new world: Musical theatre. When I received praise for my vocal performances, I felt the powerful works of validation. A performer was going to be my new identity, and it was by my sophomore year of high school. I auditioned for my high school's musical theatre program at the end of my freshman year, and I felt security when I saw I had been admitted. This is something that I am going to put my entire life into, and people are going to see me the way I wanted to be seen. I finished my last season of cheerleading and began my new venture.

October 24th, 2019

During my first year of musical theatre within my high school, I was taught a special phrase: As a performer, we must always say, "yes."

(2018+) Phase 2: The Relationship

During my sophomore year of high school, my first boyfriend and I had mutually broken up after a sincere conversation about his feelings for another girl. Beforehand, I remember trying to compensate with gifts for what I thought I was lacking. Afterwards, I remember trying to better myself with beliefs that we wouldn't have broken up if I was better. Many humans experience situations like these, especially in high school; however, I truly believed that this experience was unique to me only. I hadn't yet conceptualized the fact that we sometimes just don't possess all charactersitics that others value in partners. This same year, I got to know Curly, someone who changed my life for both the better and worse.

The manifestation of my internalized belief that sexual compliance with men would provide me award and validation would begin on our first date. It was a very simple interaction that later proved to posess more complexicty than it's face value. Curly very sweetly asked for permisson to kiss me after several hours of dinner and park-walking. It didn't feel right to kiss just yet, but I was nervous of being perceived as a reserved person. I knew that Curly was experienced, so 15 year-old me drew in. I slowly began to feel uncomfortable as it became more agressive, and alarms went off after being asked to sit on his lap. Nevertheless, I just couldn't shake that feeling of wanting him to like me. Once again, I made the choice to ignore my apprehension. Ignoring my discomfort rewarded me in this instance, as he asked me to be his girlfriend mid-interaction. Always say yes when auditioning. 

I didn't and still do not feel that Curly was in the wrong during our first date, but there were errors in his replies following my denials for more on our following dates. I'd opened up to him about my discomfort and nervousness with intimacy, yet I was met with baffled laughter, long pauses of silence, and looks of confusion/dissapointment. I remember feeling disappointed in my discomfort, and it was a common question: "Do you think you're ready yet?" The pressure began to accumulate when he told me that he loved me within our second week of dating. If I don't do this soon, I'm going to lose the only boy to ever love me. I can laugh at that thought process now, but it was certainly a real one during the time.

It was a painful first time. The second time was painful. The third, fourth, fifth... I spoke to a doctor who examined me and said that the pain resulted from the tightening of my pelvic floor--that it was fear-induced. It was true: Sex scared me. I had my ways of communicating this to Curly; however, the responses of disappointment or rejection after my turning down a sexual interaction led me to feel I was wrong to not be intimate. I decided that my fear and pain experienced during those interactions was okay and I needed to suck it up, because they were only temporary problems rather than permanent ones such as losing him.

I didn't lose him, but my trust was breached around three weeks after our first time. I felt humiliated and could acknowledge what most people might have thought about me. I completely blamed myself while also holding him accountable, and I believe that is what I continued to come back the second time... the third time, fourth time, and fifth time. I began to question my attractiveness more deeply, and I quickly sexualized myself as a resolve.

Unknown Date, 2020

By our first year together, others began to notice my emotional weakness to validation, and I lost respect from people. My identity was becoming more blurred as time passed throughout our three years together.

I began to witness his body-shaming of others. On more than several occasions, we had been out and seen a person with obesity walking out of a restaurant or exercising. Curly would often follow with a comment such as, "Why do people do that to themselves?" or, "How can they live with themselves? It's selfish." I began to body check as a means of avoiding judgments such as those, and I checked off that I had thighs that were too large; a face that was too round; and a stomach that was not as flat as it should be. No wonder he cheats.

I learned post-treatment that most of the relationships and early friendships in my life were a form of self-harm, only I didn't know that when involved. When those relationships weren't there anymore, anorexia subconsciously gave me a way to receive that harm and numbing I believed I needed.

(2019+) Phase 3: Popularity SUCKS

It didn't help to feel disliked; however, I can now recognize that the intensity of being disliked was not just due to aspects of reality, but OCD. Nevertheless, I was a moderately popular girl. I was also very loud, I spoke with confidence, I was perky and bubbly, and I was very outspoken about my opinions on rights-and-wrongs. Those who possess strong traits or roles often experience the phenomena of being either loved or hated without an in-between. They can be intimidating, and with intimidation comes the illusion of power. Such people are often targets for outsiders who are looking for power. The power is gained by controlling the ways others view the target, as that intimidating person isn't so intimidating when there a multitude of reasons and people to not like them. Popular people are easy targets for this, because many people who feel powerless assume their voice will get lost in the crowd of all the other commentary about the target; however, the false rumors are not lost in the crowd. They are heard, believed, and can be damaging.

It can be very easy for others to take any hint of poor character and run with it. The result is that will always be a lose-lose situation for the target. If they apologize, they admitted to the crime and are bad. If they truly didn't do something, they're lying and are fake. Yet, we would be fools to state that one-ten instances of being mean, fake, rude, or politically incorrect in one's life defines one's character (out of their 80+ years of life). It's wrong for us to say, "they showed their true colors," when describing one instance of a peer gossiping, lying, etc. to fit in with others. How an individual recovers from these moments of poor-character can, however, define their "true colors".

Most high schoolers, just as I did, lack this wisdom. Most high schoolers have at least one run-in with rumours, and I had many. Some rumours were bizarre, and others were simply mean or formulated from situations that could be interpreted in a multitude of ways. I made the poor choice of apologizing for things I knew I didn't do, and I apologized often. I would develop vivid false memories of the proclaimed instance and continue on with a weaker self-concept and guilt. Did I really do that? Holy sh*t. I suck. It was tiring, just as it is for many others who struggle with OCD. I am not afraid to say that I had my occasional 14-16 year-old moments when I was 14-16, but I've made ammends with those whom I can remember I did wrong by--whether it was an apology for initiating an insensitive joke/phrase that I believed to be okay at that age or for gossiping out of spite. I always remember doing my best to seek forgiveness and a greater understanding for why __ was wrong when called out on something; however, I didn't know how to let go of the guilt.

(2020-2021) Phase 4: "Perf!"

COVID-19 had hit the U.S., and we were all instructed to quarantine. I took up running out of boredom and curiosity, and I fell in love with it. I didn't realize it was happening when it was, but I lost weight quickly. I couldn't help but notice that not only was I receiving more validation from Curly, but I was receiving validation from many others. With every post, I received comments such as, "Bod!" or, my favorite, "perf!" I continued to lose weight through exercise, because I had not known the rules in upping one's physical activity. (You must increase your intake when increasing your output to maintain.)

March 25th, 2021

By my senior year of high school, I felt fulfilled. I felt sought after; I had even won the title at my school's beauty pageant, which I had later decided was only due to my physique; I had 3 (of my first) unchaperoned vacations planned for the summer; I committed to an award-winning college in New York City to pursue a Bachelors of Fine Arts in musical theatre; and I got to go to senior prom with Curly. Everything is perfect.

No it was not, Gina. I felt sexualized--not sought after. I felt like a fraud--not a winner. I was only going on the vacations for pictures--not out of genuine interest. I was disappointed in my choice to pursue musical theatre--not excited for it. I went to my senior prom for 15 minutes, because I felt bad for Curly who was waiting in the car--it was not fun! Poor me. Nope. It was the "poor me's" that deepened the wounds. At the end of the day, I made the active choice to involve myself in these events for the sake of living out what I believed would be a validated life--not a happy one.

(2021) Phase 5: Sexual Attention

Somewhere in the summer of 2021, I officially left Curly and I's relationship. However, I didn't take time to process my hurt before throwing myself into whoever's arms would take me. I sexualized myself as much as I could, and I convinced myself that I would like being intimate with others. I showed as much skin as possible and drew as much attention to a body that I had given up ownership of.

July 2nd, 2021: Miami, FL

(2021+) Phase 6: New York v. Lingering Issues

I eventually made it to New York in August 2021. I was almost always in studios, audition rooms, casting calls, or classes. There was no time to worry about my body. There was no time to post on instagram for the sake of receiving a couple more, "bod" comments. It was only stage. It was only auditions. It was only stress. Curly continued to reach out, but I was remaining solid ground and maintaining my boundaries.

October 23rd, 2021: New York, NY

I began to gain weight as I ventured into New York nightlife. If I wasn't getting high everyday, I was getting drunk. I hadn't realized the changes my body was going through until watching a showcase that I had performed in. My mom came to visit for the performance, and we had ordered Chinese food to her hotel room afterwards. She pulled out her phone in the hotel room to replay my slot for me, and I saw my body on stage for the first time since April. "I'm a pig," I remember saying. I looked down at my finished plate and repeated, "I'm a pig."

Being far away from home in a populated city also meant less safety. My birth mom was attempting to reach out to me, and her drug use led to several vial comments and threats against me. I was scared, but I found safety in increasing my use of drugs and alcohol. I believe this didn't have a large impact on my story, but I do not it contibuted.

(2021+) Phase 7: First Attempt

I still couldn't find the courage to block Curly. A part of me felt that doing so would officially close the door to love. I would receive 20+ phone calls some days following our breakup, and I pocketed several voicemails a week. I secretly loved it: I felt desired by someone who had once made me feel so far the opposite. I had made the poor choice of calling back one night after listening to a frantic voicemail, and he shared a vivid story about how he had just escaped extortion by singing to a man who blackmailed him after he had sent explicit photos to a girl working for the man. I know it sounds crazy, and I guess it kind of is. I can laugh at it now, just like i can with multiple moments in my story; however, I can't laugh at the way certain moments impacted me.

My friends were convinced that he was sick and lying to get my attention and empathy, but I was convinced that I was the sick one for continuing to care. I convinced myself that night that the conflicting emotions I had surrounding our relationship were too burdening to handle, and I was unwilling to work through the emotional toll. I didn't know it at the time, but it was an accumulation of drinking on my medication, demanding an unwanted lifestyle from myself, and experiencing occasional events such as these that motivated my decision--not this phone call alone. I had my first failed attempt at suicide that night. My roommates never found out, and I quietly went to dance the next morning.

(2022) Phase 8: Behaviors Begin

It hit me only one week after. My subconscious knew what it was doing when it began to feed me the idea of restricting my food intake. It was a form of punishment for not being enough, yet it would also give me a sense of accomplishment. I looked at the girls from my high school who seemed so desired by guys or would hit 900+ likes on their post, and I decided that I was going to be okay if I looked like them. People were going to like me. I was going to like me. Everything was going to be okay.

May 21st, 2022: Trip Home

It started small. I had read online that 1,300 was the bare minimum of caloric intake a human could survive on. I began to count, and soon food was no longer food--it was a number that would determine whether or not I would like myself again. It wasn't hard, because my brain became a calculator after 3 months. By the summer of 2022, I was an expert at maintaining a life on 1,300 calories a day. It was this same summer when I had found myself in a new relationship. Jud and I were best friends in high school, and I remember always thinking that whoever he was going to marry was going to be extremely lucky. He saw me count. He saw me cry. He saw me pinch my skin in the mirror. Yet, he never judged me. I, however, judged him. "You're gonna eat all of that?" I would ask sometimes. I was jealous. How come he gets to eat that and I can't? I wanted to control it. I would put down his choices in hopes that it would make me feel secure in mine.

I was experiencing numbness by the time I was heading back to the city for the fall semester. I would want to take pictures of every "good body" day and remind people that "I'm still thin!" The numbness would only dissolve when I had alcohol or a bite of food. This was why I always wanted to drink when I was with Jud--I felt like I was able to feel good and show good. My disorder hated Jud, because he was teaching me to accept my body.

(2022+) Phase 9: Drastic Caloric Decrease

I returned in late July 2022 to New York for the beginning of my sophomore year. I was now living in an apartment with a roommate on the Upper East Side. My body hadn't changed much on 1,300 calories a day, and I convinced myself that I had leptin resistance. My mom funded counseling with a nutritionist, but I dropped her after receiving a meal plan that was well over 1,300 calories a day.

It was 900 calories a day by September. I would show up to my dance class on an empty stomach, begin stretches before anyone else arrived, and then drink a 0-calorie energy drink or eat a handful of bagged Cheerios to casually show people that I was just naturally thin. I carefully counted what I ate for the rest of the day until the number of my iPhone calculator displayed "900." However, this number became, 875...810...and finally, 750. I had taken a job in Times Square at Levi's, and I remember punching numbers after eating three pretzels from a 110 calorie package in the break room's vending machine. My coworkers would walk in with food from the stores around us... McDonalds, Olive Garden, Popeyes. I would look at their bodies and judge them. God, I am so glad I don't eat like that. I should have eaten like that, because on several different occasions I found myself fainting in the dressing rooms and going home early for "nausea." I quit after one month.

Something that bothered me was that I appeared average-sized, but only because I was carrying extra weight beforehand from my binge-drinking. In reality, I lost a significant amount of weight in just 1 month, yet I couldn't see it. I disclosed to my psychiatrist how much weight I had lost and we went through three assessments. I was then diagnosed with body-dysmorphic disorder (BDD). BUT I LOOK "NORMAL!"

July 25th, 2022: Levi's Times Square

My relationship with Jud was suffering, and we mutually cut it off after accepting that my ways were not supporting the needs of our relationship. I had no feelings other than a desire to lose weight and continue the numbness. Logging the calories at every restaurant I could find became an obsessive hobby. By the time I was hospitalized in 2023, I had over 678,000 words in my iPhone notes and Google Docs containing every dish I craved from any restaurant I had the energy to type--some not even based in America.

(2022+) Phase 10: Extreme Isolation

My body changed dramatically between July and August 2022. By October 2022, I was eating 600 calories a day and had convinced my family to let me move to Brooklyn into an apartment by myself. This was my disorders way of pulling me into severe isolation. I now had excuses to not go out with my friends to dinners and get away with not eating. "It's a 50 minute subway ride, and I don't want to get back too late, I'm sorry!"

By Halloween 2022, I was satisfied. I dressed as the Black Swan, and practically cried in relief when I fit into an XS leotard and tutu. I held the illusion of confidence that I perceived of myself when I was a senior in high school, only I wasn't feeling anything. I had simply accomplished my job. I arrived to the party I was going to and was immediately pushed to the kitchen by my friends to grab drinks. Everything was going smoothly, but my mind was preoccupied with how many calories were in the drinks we were sipping on. By 12pm, I was ready to go home. It had been two hours, and it was time for me to isolate.

(2022+) Phase 11: It's not enough

November 2022 came around, and I arrived home for Thanksgiving. I could feel the eyes on me. My step-grandma grabbed my face and told me that the moment I got back to New York, I needed to order and eat an entire cake. I was so offended. There was a huge carrot cake in the corner of the room, and I pulled out my phone to calculate how much I could eat so that I wouldn't go over 600 calories. Wait, but then I can't have any of the stuffing. I shouldn't want stuffing. "Unhealthy" people like stuffing. These were the types of thoughts that pushed my daily caloric intake down. I was ashamed of my desire for food. Little did I know that my intense cravings for food were my bodies remaining survival cues speaking. You need food. You need fat. Thanksgiving was my first and last experience of making myself sick after eating. I would finish what I called a "plate" (or 1/3 of a plate) of food and then quickly run up to my room's bathroom and lean over my toilet. One night, I ran down to the night when everyone was asleep and ate the crumbs off of the remaining carrot cake stand. I was humiliated with myself.

When I returned to New York, my ED whispered, "300 calories a day."

December 24th, 2023: Christmas Eve

I don't remember a lot of December 2022, which I have now learned is due to my body conserving it's energy. I was having issues breathing, but nothing would stop me from making it to my classes and maintaining my GPA. I continued to appear at daily dance, only to arrive and sit out due to my favorite excuse of "nausea." No one ever made comments on how thin I was getting, so I was convinced that I simply wasn't. My hair began to fall out when I brushed it, so much so that I kept it down for all of dance and felt special becasue my ahir is the only hair of all the hair that is let down in this room of hair.

My mom arrived by surprise on the 7th of December 2022. She now explains this arrival as being due to her FaceTiming me and my being somewhat unresponsive--something I have begun to remember. My mom hadn't told me that she was coming until she was already on the plane. My mom knew that I was dying, and I wanted to punish her for trying to help. I made my mom feel terrible for interrupting my ED's plans. I had never screamed or cursed anyone the way I did at my mom in the following two weeks. Every night, I would make her sit on my uncomfortable chair in the living room while I sat on my bed to track more calories from restaurants (or as I would tell her, "doing schoolwork.")

December 26th, 2022

I received a medical leave from my college for the second semester. My mom packed my boxes for me while I was away at school after I had confessed that I didn't want to be an actress and wanted to come home. When we returned home (permanently) in late December, I immediately resumed isolation. I did, however, complete the family Christmas traditions--only, with measuring cups and a calculator. Nevertheless, isolation was the cure for avoiding food altogether. If I am not surrounded by temptation, there is no threat to my hard work. I remained in my room as much as possible, and there became times I would turn physically violent when asked to step out of this safe place.

January 5th, 2023

(2023) Phase 12: Doctors Get Involved

I knew that I needed help; however, my disorder rejected it. I allowed my mom to take me to the doctors weekly where I would get labs and weighed. My disorder was sneakier and smarter than my mom was at the time: My weight was 79 lbs., so I would water load the night before and day of the appointments. I would add a weight every now and then in my bra if I was dipping lower than that average. This clearly wasn't enough falsified added weight, as I was continuously referred to the ER at each appointment. I remember laughing in the doctor's face and telling him that he was being dramatic after telling me that I was going to die soon. It was laughable to me.They're trying to scare me. I'm breathing. I'm fine. When I'm not breathing, I'll know I'm not fine. I verbally communicated that I was willing to see a therapist, but therapists rejected me without having me placed in the hospital first. Losers.

300 calories a day turned into 130 calories a day. I began to experience more advanced psychological effects of restriction. Sometimes, I screamed at nothing or had tantrums where I would bang my head around. My adrenaline would pump so hard that I found it in me to flip chairs while screaming at my mom. I was scared, but I wasn't going to admit that.

It finally happened, and it caught me by surprise. I had gotten my clothes out of the dryer and was walking through the kitchen when I heard my dad's voice. My step mom then appeared, and soon following, my step-dad, my mom and my dad. They told me that we were going to the ER and that I had no option but to comply. My disorder was celebrating. You did it! Congratulations. I'm so proud of you, and I love you. I don't know what it was, but a piece of the real me that was left stood up, walked upstairs, packed a bag, and allowed them to take me to the ER.

January 24th, 2023: Scottish Rite

(2023) Phase 13: Hospitalization

I was admitted to Scottish Rite and stayed in the ER for 2 weeks. During my stay, I threatened to leave each day. I would film videos of myself crying, and I sat in self-pity. I felt so bad for myself, and that is not the way one recovers. I was diagnosed with severe orthostatic postural tachycardia syndrome due to the strain restriction was having on my heart. The jump from 37-133bpm by just standing up was scary, and I think it was one of the first times I really acknowledged that this was a serious thing.

I was told that if I didn't finish the meals they provided, I would have to supplement with a meal-replacement drink. If I didn't supplement, I would be tubed. I didn't want this, so I ate when they were watching and hid the food when they weren't. I came up with many tricks during my stay. In calculating what I truly was eating, I found that I was eating 1,700 calories a day by the time I left. They want you to be unhealthy. My lab work inevitably improved, but there were still a lot of health concerns after my discharge--the main ones being my weight and orthostatic measurements. Soon, my worst fear came true. The hospital transferred me over to an eating disorder residency a week after this discharge, and the real work began. My life would never be the same.

January 28th, 2023

If I gain 10 pounds, there is no possible way that they're going to admit me. So,  I ate as much as my disorder would allow in this gap week between the hospital and the residency. I didn't feel proud of myself for eating. In fact, I felt so much guilt that I was tempted to run away just for the sake of keeping my body thin. I actually ended up losing even more weight in doing this due to my body hyper-metabolizing. On three nights, we ordered in from the "unhealthiest" restaurants my brain could think of. I would eat until I was sick. I was determined to get out of the running for a residency, however a piece of me had reappeared that said, "You've needed this. Take it." Those were moments when my disorder would say, "That's not okay. You need to compensate for this now," and the following day, I would make sure to eat as little as possible without anyone noticing.

The hospital had told me that I "could not overshoot," and that I should eat as much of whatever I wanted. This made me feel some relief when I would eat more than a full plate of food. Even still, I was not following the meal plan the hospital had provided my mom with. I would plate my meals and snacks, put them in my bra, walk up to my room and dump them out of my bedroom window.

(2023) Phase 14: Treatment

The day had come to leave home for the next 6 weeks and live in what I expected to be an asylum-like facility with a bunch of what I thought were going to be competitive, mean humans. There were no competitive, mean humans--only new friends. I had no idea that this same day was going to be the day when I would begin my true meal completion record. I was terrified of what would happen if I didn't eat my food, as some patients had been there for 3+ months because of their refusal. I watched many of these patients receive warnings of being tubed, and some were.

Our bodies could sometimes not handle the amount of food we were given after such malnutrition, but I didn't care--I didn't want to get tubed. We had 3 meals and 3 snacks a day; however, we were being plated with the amount of food a recovering patient needs, which is much more than what the average human needs on a daily basis. My body did not respond well to the sudden increase in nutrition. I suffered from severe edema, which is the abnormal swelling of the body. I experienced mine mostly in the face and legs. I was urinating 20+ times a day and having consistent acid reflux that I would swallow to avoid being marked for incompletion (which is what would happen if someone got sick).

My brain began to work faster at week 2. I was working with counselors and exchanging struggles with other individuals on a 24/7 basis, appropriately coping with my disorder. I saw a dietician twice a week, a therapist twice a week, and a psychiatrist once a week as I learned the truths that I had turned away from. I knew that I was recovering when I was given permission to begin plating my own food, choosing sweets without guilt. My fears of food began to dissipate with each conversation and meal I had allowed my body. With a brain that could process emotions and information again, I was beginning to find motivation to be healthy--not skinny. I was in residential treatment for 5.5 weeks before I was discharged. I completed every meal, and I found once discharged (purely out of curiosity) that at the end of each day, my caloric intake was around 3,500-4,000 calories in residency. I gained around 30 pounds in 6 weeks. I was then stepped-down to PHP (Partial Hospitalization Program). PHP is treatment for more medically- and mentally-stabilized patients who get to go home at night.

In PHP, I still had almost 15 more pounds to gain, and it was physically painful. By week 2, the level of fullness I felt after each meal left me almost unable to walk up to my room. There were nights when I couldn't sleep because of the pain, but I had one thing keeping me going: Moving on. "No person should ever have to experience this. No one should ever believe the lies this world is told about 'health.' I'm going to help myself, and then I'm going to help them." My body was not wanting to reach the weight that the dietician had plotted based on my growth chart; however, my body eventually got there. I was in PHP for 5 weeks before I was discharged.

(2023-Today) Phase 15: Recovery

April 27th, 2023: Day 1 (Out of Treatment)

I naturally lost excess weight and reached my set point after being discharged from PHP. I've struggled with minor relapses and a lapse of bulemia since being discharged; however, I have stabilized my weight, chemical and hormonal balances, and view of self. I have not stopped receiving trauma and somatic therapy, and I have been drug independent for two years.

I've dissolved my previous forms of social media and created new ones that represent my authenticity and drive for spreading knowledge of psychology. I am now a registered behavior technician, certified peer specialist, bachelor of science in psychology, and I will soon be a licensed professional counselor with a speciality in eating disorder and trauma therapy. I graduated summa cum laude in July 2025, and I now get to spread my experience as both a patient and provider within behavioral health services to aid others in their journey towards mental wellness.

I don't blame cheerleading for my anorexia. I don't blame social media for my anorexia. I don't blame Curly for my anorexia. I blame the power that my mind gave to others. I blame the genetics of my body that predisposed me to trauma and my generalized anxiety disorder. My brain has never just been a brain, but a powerhouse for creativity that developed ideas of creative self-destruction. My brain is healing the way that my heart eventually did. I've resumed seeing humans as beautiful again without comparing my arms to theirs. I will dedicate the rest of my life to helping those who, just like me, believed that life was not a safe place.

Gina

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BONUS: Affirmations for "Yes" People

1. Just because someone responds negatively to what I say, does not deem it wrong to say.

2. I'm allowed to take care of myself.

3. I'm allowed to like myself without other people's approval.

4. I don't owe anyone an apology for my refusal to comply with their desires, including sexual ones.

5. My idea of beautiful does not have to align with other people's.

6. I have not done anything in my life to deem me unworthy of happiness.

7. I have the power to change to someone's life, including my own.