The first thought is always the beginning. At least, it was my beginning.
Middle school was where the torment and destined future started. My protruding stomach and awkward youthful frame left my social circle barren. My thoughts started as happy and satisfied with my developing body, however, the people around me influenced my self – hate and struggle through this unfortunate present reality.

The first thought entered my mind around the time I was fourteen. After having experienced negativity and discrimination from my fellow peers earlier, I was far from accepting of myself during this time. My motivation to exercise began to increase as I took note of the countless beautiful girls that walked the halls of my high school; tall, skinny, and what I though of as perfect. At first, the exercise was all in good nature, and I noticed how I began to look and feel somewhat better. Losing a few pounds triggered the start of my long – distance running, and I began to increase my mileage and distance every week.

As the months went by, and the pounds said ‘bye,’ I was utterly elated with my new body, and knew if I simply cut down on my food intake, and simply ate things that were low in calories, I would see more pounds drop. Soon though, my strength weakened, and my muscles faded, leaving my appearance as undernourished and weak. People began to notice, and complimented my weight loss, and I took it all in, relishing in my ‘perfect body.’

The cycle continued, and left me feeling depressed and anti – social, but I knew that was far less important than my appearance and weight, so the vicious cycle consumed me completely. Eventually, concern began to fill the people around me, and they began to question whether anorexia was the cause. Frantically, I waved it off, and simply said I was living ‘a healthy lifestyle’ and there was nothing to worry about.

Reaching 92 pounds made me feel superior to those around me; I knew I had to be smaller than all of them now, and yet, it wasn’t enough.

Once my graduation hit, and high school was behind me, my future was undetermined, and the denial from my dream college left my already depressed state utterly withdrawn and full of grief.

I felt alone; having already isolated myself from all my friends, my body and my state directed me in the path of food. The deprivation of it for so long left me in an urgent consumption, and this began the binging. The quantity left my stomach bloated, and uneasy feeling and my depression continued to escalate with my disgust for my new habit.

Weight began to creep up on me, and I hated everything about myself. After several months, I reached 108, and I was simply beside myself. I knew I had to bring myself out of this or the wreckage would continue.

Knowing I had to do something right for myself, I began to apply to more universities, and my composure increased somewhat.

And now, here it is, my present.

Perhaps this is recovery? I do not know, but my intentions are building, and my future will determine that. The thoughts of losing weight still remain, but perhaps the further I go, the more successes I will ‘gain.’