Everyone feels the need to fit in, right? All of us have
issues with self-esteem and self-worth, and so did I. Most of my younger days
were spent being involved in activities that included popular approval and
criticism. And no one likes the latter, do they? I strove to be the best in
everything I did and pretty much succeeded for a long time. The fact that I was
my own worst critic further helped me nip most of my faults in the bud.
I had always wanted to be a superwoman. I was already into
gymnastics and football, and I was planning on taking dance lessons too. But
when I did not qualify for the finals of the dance selection camp, I was hurt.
And I began feeling extremely inadequate and unworthy. I began wondering what
could’ve caused this unexpected rejection, and finally decided that it was my
weight. I had always been on the heavier side of thin, but now I was convinced
I was overweight, and that I needed to get rid of all the extra fat if I was to
attain that success I had always chased.
Thus began a downward spiral that turned my life around
forever. I began competing again, but this time I was fighting myself. I began
to reduce my portions of food, and my mind began try beating my body at this
game of fat versus fit. With every meal I skipped, I felt a sense of triumph,
for I was beginning to succeed. In short, I was well on the way to becoming
what the dictionary defines as ‘anorexic’.
In the beginning, it was all very rosy. I felt great about
myself- attractive, strong and successful. I was powerful, almost superhuman-
for I could do something that other people could not. I could go without food.
I had broken the very rule that had governed mankind since its inception- food
was no more an essential in my life.
Some months down the line, my friends began to notice my
weight loss. They started becoming concerned. “You’re losing too much weight!”,
“At this rate, you’ll disappear”, they said. But obviously, the fox who does
not reach the grapes call them sour- that doesn’t mean the grapes really are
sour. I chose to take their comments as a compliment- they reassured me that I
was succeeding, that I was getting closer to ‘perfection’. My physical
appearance was now my priority.
I kept cutting back on what I ate, until breakfast was a cup
of skim milk and an orange, and dinner consisted of a small bowl of fruit. That
was all I ate on most days, and eating a bite more than my allotted ‘morsels’
meant strenuous gymming.
In a year, I had reached a phase where I had had to stop
socializing almost completely. I couldn’t go out with my friends- what would I
eat if I went to lunch; for it had been months since I’d eaten something in the
afternoon. Dinners out were impossible. If I ate out, wouldn’t my little bowl
of fruit keep waiting for me in futility? I began scheduling my days around my
meals, and started avoiding my friends. What if they decided to tell me how
awesome that loaded breakfast was, this morning? Besides, what would I wear? Now
that I had a fantastic body, I’d wanted to wear amazing clothes. But none of my
older clothes fit, and I couldn’t but new ones because no store stocked clothes
my size. I’d shrunk, and I’d shrunk big time.
But you always sow what you reap. The body that I had worked
so hard for a year began to rebel. My poor nutrition started causing me to lose
sleep and concentration. I began feeling stressed out and fatigued as I worked
towards burning those calories that I had not even consumed. My friends and
family tried to help me, but I denied I had a problem. But I could not live in
denial forever.
One night, like many others, I couldn’t sleep. My heart was
pounding against my ribs and it threatened to beat its way out of them. I tried
to relax, but I could not. Breathing was beginning to get difficult, and
finally, after a year and a half of warnings and symptoms, I realized my folly.
I now knew I needed help. Had my mom not seen me palpitating that day, I would
not have survived to tell you this tale.
Thus began my long, ardours journey to recovery. A week of
hospitalization and months of counselling later, I figured out what really
mattered, and a new sense of reality struck me. A series of hospital visits
later, I was a strong and healthy as I started off with.
Anorexia, for me, represented all that I wanted to achieve.
It was a yardstick I used for measuring my self confidence. For a while, it had
defined who I was.
Now, I am committed to being healthy. I use not an eating
disorder, but my intelligence and talent to show the world who I am. This is
who I am, and I’m beautiful- it’s not about the size of my body. I had tried to
achieve perfection on the exterior, but I sacrificed the idea of who I really
was. I promise, I will not walk down that lane again, for it leads me to the
wrong destination through a difficult terrain. Take my word for it, do not take
that route to success. It almost always will mislead you.
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