I was the child who would swim until my hands were raisins, completely blocking out moms screams to put on sunscreen. I didn’t need sunscreen, I was a mermaid! But then I was also a licensed driver—able to travel the world of my patio on a plasma toy car. Some days I was a witch, a good one, that turned backyard pebbles into princes. My imagination granted me the power to never be lonely. I always had a new friend to make and a new life to live.
Like most imaginary friends, mine started to die off as I grew up. Slowly but surely reality hit—I’d never be Alex Russo from Wizards of Waverly place. Trading spells for spiraling, I descended into my adolescence; dealing with all the grimy issues most people do. Immature boys, ill fitting bras, and endless hobby rotation!
But there was still this looming presence around me—I felt it at my first pool party, freshman year lunch, the doctor’s yearly check up. It was fleeting but loud; a voice and a face that so distinctly matched mine.
By the time junior year of high school rolled around, this “presence” was done looming. She was in the flesh, introducing herself under the pretense of love. And I was so desperate for any type of love, it made us electric together. Just like when I was little, this friend took away the loneliness. She gave me a new world to exist in—one with lots of rules.
But rules were something I could learn to follow, and the sense of validation that came as I learned was addicting. As we grew closer, everything else seemed to run from me. Their distance only proved her more right: that no one else could exist with us.
I was so consumed in our world, that I didn’t register anything had changed until one day at work. The cookie store no longer felt like home scrubbing leftover dough off my hands, as if calories could seep into skin.
Descending into anorexia was like the buildup to a roller coaster. It seemed exciting and fun and my adrenaline was rushing as if heaven was near. But then I had that pivotal moment at the top—where you realize it’s way too late to get off.
I was sent upside down, spiraling and screaming, all the way to high school graduation. It was so fast there was nothing to do but hold on, and holding on so tight, I missed more than I can imagine. No birthday parties, no Sunday mornings, no weekend trips. My bestest friends, my real friends, who loved me from pre-puberty to C cup, back down to A, slipped through my fingers. The sport that fostered me from age four to varsity was just numbers. School wasn’t even something that held my attention. Because eating disorders are selfish. There was no time for anything but her.
From the outside, I seemed to be excelling. So it is no one’s fault that they complimented me. Unfortunately those compliments came like forest rain, watering her to grow, and me to wither.