EDistrict:
The Anatomy of Thin

I am sitting here in my San Diego apartment, watching people parasail slowly into the La Jolla cove. It’s a pristine, beautiful day: the sun is shining gently and the ocean breeze is whisping through my windows, almost singing as it passes between strands of my strawberry hair. A couple is chatting as they walk their Golden Retriever to Black’s Beach, while a copper-skinned surfer hauls his short board down the cliffside. From the outside, it seems as though the world is as it should be; life is of abundance here, and happiness exudes from the smallest of corners.

In response to this glorious, typical Southern California day, I shut my windows and pull down my blinds. Because, life as I know it does not deserve such pleasures. I’d much prefer night, where the flat pallid tone of my skin doesn’t reflect so brightly; where things aren’t as noticeable, where I can be alone in my own pitiful state of self-demise.

Such a conundrum, to live in a place of such bliss, and to continuously want anything but it. Don’t get me wrong, I understand and appreciate the home I’ve so undeservingly been given. I know there are starving kids in Africa, unloved orphans in Russia, religious refugees in China…I know this. And yet, beyond the walls I’ve built around myself, I see nothing…I feel nothing.

Which is exactly why I need to put whatever this life is into words.

I guess you can just call me C, and I suppose to start this off on the obvious note: I have an eating disorder. I’ve been struggling with anorexia since my junior year of high school, and still fight the daily battle of whether or not I feel like delving into self-inflicted punishment. I’m getting ready to graduate college here in a year or so, and I’ll be honest: I never thought I’d have to deal with this for so long. It really hit me today, as I browsed for the ump-teenth time on anafriends.org, that it’s been nearly five years; five, long years of ups and downs, high-highs and devastating-lows, and I’m in nearly the same place as I was when I started. Miserable. Self-loathing. And most importantly, out of control.

So why is it that some people can cope with mental illnesses and disorders, and some of us can’t? Will I have to live with this forever? There are a lot of questions that run through my mind, more so about my future and what little bleak hope I have to obtain some sort of normalcy. How can I be married someday if I have to hide this lifestyle? How can I ever have kids when I’m deathly afraid of weight-gain, not to mention what a horrible role model I’ll be for a possible daughter?

I feel like a lot of young-women struggling with EDs probably have similar problems, which is why I’m starting this blog. I guess a part of me has always found comfort in knowing that I’m not alone in this world of starvation; that next door there might be a girl staring at her plate of nothing and glass of green tea with pain, just like me. While I’m not pro-ana in any shape or form (who would ever wish this upon anyone is beyond me), I will be strikingly honest in what I go through on a daily basis. How overweight I feel today, how many miles I ran to fight the drinking binge I had with friends the night before, how many times I weighed myself just to mentally force the physical hunger away…all of it.

This is a place of truth; a space of understanding and empathy, of case-studies and personal experience. This is EDistrict. And for you who have read this far, who know in the depths of what’s left of you that you can’t get rid of this low: you are not alone. And while I can’t promise that things will be okay, know this one simple truth: I love you. And I’m so sorry.

-C