Looking in the mirror I now see how warped my views of my own body’s appearance must have been. My body now looks healthier and I do not look so weak that I could fall apart if someone were to gently touch me. I have more color in my face and my eyes look brighter. I feel better about the decisions I am now making for my life. As I stand here I also remember the times where it was more difficult for me to feel as positive about myself. “Why do your knees look like doorknobs?” someone in my seventh grade gym class asks sarcastically.
Jogging around the gymnasium, I begin to slow down. “I saw you throw you lunch away again,” my friend whispers looking at me with disappointment. I do not know how to respond. Thinking about how I look, I picture this distorted image of extra pounds that look like cottage cheese covering me. My friends never talk to me about my size or food intake. I do not feel that I am completely preoccupied with my weight, but, I feel safe knowing that eating is a way I can monitor, adjust, and challenge myself.
Looking in the mirror in the girl’s locker room, my size zero clothes hang loosely off my skin and bones. I look weak and brittle. Yet when my stomach feels empty, I am proud of myself for resisting the temptations of the greasy, fattening calories in every bite. It is an obsession. I begin to like the emptiness in my stomach, but I feel it in my heart now, too.
All I can think about is how I should not eat and I forget about my family, friends and what really mattered to me before. My family became upset with me about my problem, and watching me at dinner, questions arise such as, “So what sandwich did you pack today?”I forgot,” I answer meekly. As they quiz me on meals I have to push back the tears in my eyes. I no longer feel in control. As I enter high school, I realize that I need help and I begin seeing nutritionists and physicians. I dread my hospital visits to the cold, disinfectant smelling rooms.
“Why can’t you just open you mouth and chew the food, Ali?” the doctors ask as if I do not understand the concept. I feel like no one understands me or my body and what I am going through. “Please face the mirror on the wall and think about what you see,” the doctor said sternly. Examining my body for a reasonable amount of time I cannot believe how famished and sick I look. It makes me feel ugly. I realize how easy it is to get back into this distorted pattern of thinking.
Seeing myself now, a twelfth grader, I walk away from the mirror knowing my problem is not worth the pain I cause myself and others close to me. Anorexia affected everyone in my life, in the early stages, maybe even more than it has affected me. There is so much more to life than appearance and size and I will never take the risk again of losing people close to me.