By Ashley Torres
(Trigger Warning: The following story discusses my experiences with an Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, also known as EDNOS. The Center for Eating Disorders defines it as when an “individual’s symptoms cause significant distress but do not fit neatly within the strict criteria for anorexia, bulimia, ARFID or binge eating disorder.” If you or anyone you know struggles with an eating disorder, contact the NEDA Feeding Hope Helpline at (800)931-2237)
Dear ED,
I met you when I was only 14 years old. I was considered a happy child in the eyes of many: family, friends, teachers, strangers. To you, I was nothing but numbers on a scale. You made me believe that an untouched plate of food was better than an empty one.
You made me believe that I could find happiness through sore muscles and small waistlines. You made me believe that I was less than my worth because I went out to eat on the day of my sister’s graduation. I am exhausted.
I still remember the day I heard your sinister whispers for the first time. No one else heard you but me.
“Eat all your food, mija” said my mother in a nurturing tone. My eyes examined the meal before me: a plate full of unnecessary calories and carbohydrates. My mind methodically calculated the amount of calories in the sauteed vegetables and steamed rice.
“You don’t deserve to eat,” you said. The scent of freshly, baked bread infiltrated the air. You repeated, “Don’t do it.” So, I did as you said.
That’s how it has been for the past four years. You say and I do. In middle school, I fell into a deep depression: I lost friends and myself. The only person I could confide in was you. You told me not to eat for an entire day because kids at school would only like me if I was smaller. Kids all around me were laughing and conversing with one another, and I was sitting on a slab of concrete, alone.
Towards the beginning of high school, my relationship with you began to fade. I was finally surrounded by positive people who loved and appreciated me for me. My relationship with food was finally improving and I forgot the sound of your voice in the back of my head.
Things were too good to be true because you entered my life once again during my junior year. I tried to ignore your presence, but the academic stress did not allow it. Instead of starving myself, I began binge-eating to distract myself from the emotional and physical stress I was enduring.
Food was not just a form a substance anymore. It was a coping mechanism that provided a temporary happiness.
“You weren’t strong enough to starve yourself, pathetic. You have to eat. I am disappointed in you,” was something I heard every single time I took a bite out of my food.
Summer was around the corner and the stress eventually faded away, along with you. I was finally happy. The weight was shedding off of my body naturally. However, good things can only last so long.
In my senior year, I muted your voice. I began following a 1200-calorie diet and exercised regularly. People started noticing the change, but I heard you say, “Try harder.” You were back and you’ve been here ever since.
I view food as a punishment and reward. If I don’t burn a certain amount of calories during my workouts, I don’t allow myself to eat. You make me think I don’t deserve to feed my body with the proper nutrients it needs because the number on the scale is not acceptable to you.
At first, it was hard to accept that I suffered from an eating disorder. Everyone around me seemed to be content with themselves, and I was ashamed to tell others that I feared food and calories and carbs and saturated fats.
And I know I’m not alone in this fight. A friend of mine recently confided in me that she, too, struggles with her own ED: “When food is good, I eat it. After I’m done, I regret it,” she said. In order to avoid the guilt from eating, she looks in the mirror and tells herself that she is fat.
She feels insecure at school, often compares herself to other girls when she is out with friends, and believes food provides her a temporary high to distract her from the real world.
This is your fault. To others, we are perceived as self-obsessed and narcissistic because we care so much about our appearance. In reality, I want to never think about the calories in my food ever again.
Because of you, we are a statistic. 24 million people in the U.S. of all ages and genders suffer from an eating disorder, according to the National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorders. I, Ashley Torres, am a part of those 24 million people.
Dear ED,
I met you when I was only 14 years old. I was considered a happy child in the eyes of many: family, friends, teachers, strangers. To you, I was nothing but numbers on a scale. You made me believe that an untouched plate of food was better than an empty one.
You made me believe that I could find happiness through sore muscles and small waistlines. You made me believe that I was less than my worth because I went out to eat on the day of my sister’s graduation. I am exhausted.
I still remember the day I heard your sinister whispers for the first time. No one else heard you but me.
“Eat all your food, mija” said my mother in a nurturing tone. My eyes examined the meal before me: a plate full of unnecessary calories and carbohydrates. My mind methodically calculated the amount of calories in the sauteed vegetables and steamed rice.
“You don’t deserve to eat,” you said. The scent of freshly, baked bread infiltrated the air. You repeated, “Don’t do it.” So, I did as you said.
That’s how it has been for the past four years. You say and I do. In middle school, I fell into a deep depression: I lost friends and myself. The only person I could confide in was you. You told me not to eat for an entire day because kids at school would only like me if I was smaller. Kids all around me were laughing and conversing with one another, and I was sitting on a slab of concrete, alone.
Towards the beginning of high school, my relationship with you began to fade. I was finally surrounded by positive people who loved and appreciated me for me. My relationship with food was finally improving and I forgot the sound of your voice in the back of my head.
Things were too good to be true because you entered my life once again during my junior year. I tried to ignore your presence, but the academic stress did not allow it. Instead of starving myself, I began binge-eating to distract myself from the emotional and physical stress I was enduring.
Food was not just a form a substance anymore. It was a coping mechanism that provided a temporary happiness.
“You weren’t strong enough to starve yourself, pathetic. You have to eat. I am disappointed in you,” was something I heard every single time I took a bite out of my food.
Summer was around the corner and the stress eventually faded away, along with you. I was finally happy. The weight was shedding off of my body naturally. However, good things can only last so long.
In my senior year, I muted your voice. I began following a 1200-calorie diet and exercised regularly. People started noticing the change, but I heard you say, “Try harder.” You were back and you’ve been here ever since.
I view food as a punishment and reward. If I don’t burn a certain amount of calories during my workouts, I don’t allow myself to eat. You make me think I don’t deserve to feed my body with the proper nutrients it needs because the number on the scale is not acceptable to you.
At first, it was hard to accept that I suffered from an eating disorder. Everyone around me seemed to be content with themselves, and I was ashamed to tell others that I feared food and calories and carbs and saturated fats.
And I know I’m not alone in this fight. A friend of mine recently confided in me that she, too, struggles with her own ED: “When food is good, I eat it. After I’m done, I regret it,” she said. In order to avoid the guilt from eating, she looks in the mirror and tells herself that she is fat.
She feels insecure at school, often compares herself to other girls when she is out with friends, and believes food provides her a temporary high to distract her from the real world.
This is your fault. To others, we are perceived as self-obsessed and narcissistic because we care so much about our appearance. In reality, I want to never think about the calories in my food ever again.
Because of you, we are a statistic. 24 million people in the U.S. of all ages and genders suffer from an eating disorder, according to the National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorders. I, Ashley Torres, am a part of those 24 million people.