Amy's story - anorexia

Girls' Life, Feb-March, 2002

Anorexia is like you're running down a hill, and all this wind is going through your hair, and it's exciting. But all of a sudden, you're going too fast and start to spiral our of control. You fall. then you're just sitting on the ground, shocked, with all these bruises.

If you knew me in high school, you'd I never think I had any problems. I was the girl who had it all--a near-perfect GPA, the lead in the school play and an editorial position on the school newspaper. I was also involved in several clubs and activities, like Students for Environmental Action, Student Congress and yearbook. I even had a cool boyfriend--everyone in school said we were "the perfect couple."

I'm also a painter. I've won several school and state art awards. My work has been displayed in local galleries, as well as the Art Institute of Chicago. I've even sold some of my paintings for hundreds of dollars.

My friends saw me as a stable, happy-go-lucky girl--the one everyone went to for help with their problems. But I hardly ever talked to my friends about my problems, mainly because I didn't have any--or at least none I could admit.

For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to do everything under the sun--and be the best at it. If I got a C, I'd be really hard on myself, much harder than my parents were on me. But by fall 2000--the first semester of my senior year--I was totally exhausted and burnt out. In addition to keeping up my GPA and extracurricular activities, I was under a tight deadline to get out numerous art school applications and put together a portfolio of my paintings. My parents made it pretty clear they wanted me to get a scholarship, since paying for college would be a challenge.

Plus, things weren't so great at home. I'd always had a terrible relationship with my dad. I felt like he ignored me most of the time. He could also be pretty scary. lie screamed at me for little things, like leaving crumbs on the kitchen counter after making a snack. I'd tell him when he hurt my feelings, but he'd just walk away and slam the door. On top of it all, he and my mom were fighting a lot, too.

But the thing is, I didn't want to burden my friends with my family problems because most of their parents are divorced. I felt lame complaining about my bickering parents--at least they were still together.

It was hard to be at school and even harder to be at home. As a result, I began eating less. I'd be too upset to eat at home because my parents were always bickering at the dinning room table. I didn't eat much outside the house either because I was rushing around all the time. Starving myself wasn't my actual goal at first--just more of a response to everything going on in my life. But I started losing weight.

I didn't even realize I was shedding pounds until my friends and family began telling me how great I looked. Even my dad complimented me, which felt so good. So I made a conscious effort to keep my weight down by only eating low-fat foods. Soon, my clothes got even looser. Then I became vegetarian, also cutting out all foods with chemicals and preservatives. I lost even more. I felt I had finally found something I could completely control--my weight. I could restrict what I ate, how much I ate and when I ate. Even though my life felt crazy, I could do this one thing very well and, initially, I got a high from this accomplishment. I weighed myself all the time. Gaining or losing a single pound determined my mood for the whole day.

For a month or so, everyone kept complimenting me. But before long, my clothes were like sacks. By spring, leans that fit perfectly in the fall were hanging off my hips. My mother told me I looked too skinny and that she was worried about how much weight I had lost. My friends said the same thing.

But, rather than admitting there was a problem, I lied. I told everyone--my family, my friends, even my boyfriend--that I'd lost weight because of this winter flu I couldn't shake. Of course, the reason I was sick was because I hadn't eaten much in four months. But I assured everyone I was fine. I made a special effort to eat snacks around friends and family, pretending it was no big deal. Then I'd eat nothing else for the rest of the day.

Looking back, I can't believe I was such a liar. I'd always been a terrible liar, never able to keep a straight face. But I quickly became a master of deception because I didn't want to give up my food restrictions. That's the only thing I felt I could count on.

What's weird is that I grew up totally aware of the dangers of anorexia. My mom taught me all the warning signs of eating disorders and how important it is to have a good body image. I read magazine articles and saw TV shows about eating disorders. I remember watching a movie in health class about the dangers of anorexia. I even hung warning posters around school during Eating Disorder Awareness Week. But I never connected my own weight loss to anorexia. Denial, of course, is a symptom of the disease.

By second semester of my senior year, I had totally stopped listening to my body's signals. I ignored my grumbling belly and hunger pangs. I was exhausted from not having enough nutrients in my body. I barely had enough energy to dance (I love to dance) or do my artwork. It all just felt like it took too much effort. I was always freezing cold because my body lacked the necessary fat to keep me warm. People thought I wore heavy layers to hide my body, but it was mostly because I was just so darn cold!