My entire adolescence belonged to the devil. While others were exploring their interests, figuring out their likes and dislikes, discovering they preferred science over art or that they were better at soccer than basketball, my identity was rooted in my eating disorder.
My eating disorder was my identity. It’s how I defined myself. Apart from it, I didn’t know what I loved or hated. While other kids – and then teenagers, and then young men and women – were building their identities and figuring out who they were, I was building a wall around myself, one disordered thought and behavior at a time.