It had been a day of desperation. I could not breathe; for fear that my ribs would crack through my shirt. My skin hung, gray and lifeless, and my hair, thinned and dull, swung with the rhythm of my walk. I stood, examining my bleak reflection, yellowed eyes and teeth. I stared at the person who I didn’t recognize, with her bones protruding. But yet it wasn’t enough. I had to have more.

I walked into the kitchen, a storm cloud of rage, and produced a magic wand from the drawer. “This,” I promised myself, “Will make it all better.” I said the magic words, and began slicing my skin, on my stomach first, and then in a fit of infuriated inadequacy, I began casting spells along my arms and legs.

Of course, it spiraled and spiraled until I could not find the beginning of the circle I had created. My skin sunk farther, my bones protruded more, and my emotions remained on a level of selfish disapproval. I focused on the pain, the only actual feeling I had.

My mom found out about my cyclic magic, and I broke in two. There was not enough of me anymore to handle what I had inflicted upon myself. She promised help, and I admitted my defeat. When she confronted me, asked me if it was true, I could not bring myself to lie again. I told her about the first time I had sliced my skin, I told her about the starvation and the feelings of insufficiency I felt.

She told me that it would be okay, and then asked if I was okay. As I stood before her, tears dripping down my face, I realized that I had found what I was searching for. I wasn’t alone anymore. I had been desperate for someone to find out and to help me and in that moment, I knew that I would be okay.

She told me that I was strong enough, and as I stood there, torn in half, I began to believe it myself. I knew that this would be a battle for the ages, and I was ready to face the fire. I wasn’t alone anymore, because in that moment, I knew that I had something that could defeat the strongest magic. I had my family. It would take time, and produce tears, but I was strong enough to fight the war with my brave soldiers next to me.

From my current perspective, it’s hard not to cringe over these thoughts. But, I know going through something as monumental as this has made me that much stronger of a person. I’ve developed desire and dreams, and can’t wait to explore the future, something my past self was afraid of. Truly, I have gained so much respect for the body, and for myself.

I realize now that there will always be a little devil on my shoulder, promising relief if I just go into the kitchen for my knife. But, I stand here today, strong and ready to fight these self defeating notions, and prepared to change the world in every way I can. I know now that this was a mountain, but it was a mountain that I have conquered, thanks to my family, and my own inner strength.

My family played a huge role in my recovery, and stood by my side, even though it was definitely a scary time. They all realized how important it is to support one another, and the importance of caring. They realized that there are a lot of things we are going to have to do together, and strength is vital in hard times. We all became more aware of one another, and realized the true value a family has.

Although I suffered from depression and anorexia, it does not define me. As I stood there, with my mom telling me it would be okay, I knew that there was life beyond myself, and am ready to experience all that I can. My diseases will always be a part of me, but I now plan to live, with my story in tucked away, with the appreciation that I am strong enough for anything.