It is hard to come to terms with the fact I struggle with an eating disorder. The thing is, I have only told a friend when I was drunk and in the morning I felt so ashamed. There is such a stigma, this fixed idea that you have to be skinny or look sick, or have something extreme happen with your health in order to be classified as having an eating disorder. And I am none of those things. In my mind I am fat, overweight. I can’t tell how my body actually looks or how I actually am – my image changes constantly, I appear in photos differently each time and when I look at myself in the mirror it really depends if I am hungry or full or have just purged to determine if I look fat or have lost weight.

Engaging in disordered eating habits have become such a normal thing. Commenting on people’s weight and appearance and labelling people is just normalized. Defining your worth to your weight and size is just tormenting. It’s all over social media, the memes about boys being so drunk they make-out with a “3/10” fat girl (in my mind, that is me. What if my image pops into the head of the person reading that?). The comments people in your friendship group subtly make about models and porn stars and how hot they are. The discussion about that girl at the party who had really good boobs and that “I am sad they’re not talking about me”. Me having thrown up my lunch and not eaten before a night out, very drunk and high and seeing leftover chips, to which is met with the line “just take it you fat fuck.” Oh but it’s just a joke right? It’s all just a bit of a laugh? “Carbs are really bad for you, but hey, enjoy your carbs.” I know when I got told that I didn’t eat for the rest of the day.

It is hard to explain to someone the compulsion you get to restrict more, to binge more, and to purge even more each time. That you set goals, pushing yourself even harder and harder until you feel satisfied with the act, but the truth is you never really do feel content. It’s a secretive cycle that seems impossible to breakthrough. Red marks are left on your knuckles (but obviously it’s not severe enough if they don’t stay, right?), you’re left with a sore throat, a stomach ache, and a hand smelling of vomit even after you’ve washed it. The sensation of a full stomach triggers you to think that you have eaten too much, so you beat yourself up by purging. You restict until you binge, to which your mind says “eat your heart out, don’t worry, we will get rid of it when you finish”, feeling the extreme fullness to the point you feel uncomfortable, and then you purge. Relief, guilt, self-hatred, red knuckles, the cycle never stops.

“If I am skinny, if I lose weight, I will be more liked by everyone. I won’t be as rejected as I am now. The boy I have my eye on will finally like me, and all will be good. If I am skinny I will be happy and small and you will see my collarbones and jawline, I just have to keep going. It is going to work. I am in control.” – The thoughts that run through my head on a daily basis.

Sometimes I think, “How is this fair? How is it fair that my friends get to enjoy their food and keep it down and not have a second thought about it while my mind torments me with the throught of purging it. Why aren’t I allowed to keep the food in my stomach while they can? Why can they continue to hang out while I am in the bathroom purging?“

My mind is set on numbers and calories, even just an estimate. I have a list of the things I have consumed. I don’t know if I can ever have a normal eating pattern. I don’t know if I can accept that I might have an eating disorder, or if I can tell anyone. I don’t know what to do.