The studying is what you do in the dining hall. You wonder if everyone is staring at your plate the way you’re staring at theirs. Thinking about every food and whether it fits into the “rules” you’ve dictated for yourself, for how you’re supposed to eat.
As you go about campus life, you hear murmurs and exclamations about how someone’s girlfriend only ate this or about how someone’s roommate wakes up those amount of hours before class to exercise for that long. For a second, you understand why you’ve become what you have. How you can restrict, exercise, binge and purge all you want, and still not be happy with yourself.
You’re at a party, but you don’t want to drink your calories. All you can think about is how empty you feel while everyone dances and sings and slurs their words. You’re with friends at the basketball game, but you can’t stop thinking about the enormous amount of calories that must have been in your dinner while everyone else hollers and cheers.
You’re in the car with your partner, and you don’t seem present in the moment. They can tell that you’re not listening. How are you supposed to tell them that it seems like someone is following you, judging you, whispering in your ear about how you can’t wear this or can’t eat that whenever it’s just supposed to be the two of you?
You’re at the door of an office. You’re nervous and scared. Part of you doesn’t want to let go. Part of you thinks that this thing, your eating disorder, is your friend. But you have to remind yourself that it’s not.
The door opens. You’re ready to be your real self. The part of you without your disorder. You’re ready to give yourself a chance.