Mia and Me

“57, 58, 59, 60….” I gasped for air after five dozen pushups on my fingertips. My stomach was burning and my head was starting to get heavy. It was now almost 12am and I had started this workout at 10:30. My body was ready to shut down, but the monster inside me wanted more.1

I staggered to my bathroom counter and pulled out a secret stash of diet pills. I got so used to doing this at night; I didn’t need any liquid to swallow them. I took two and started walking back to the floor to start my dreadful round of sit-ups. But when I did, the monster clawed my insides and forced me to take three more pills and several gulps of water. 2

After another half hour of exercise, the monster died down and I crawled onto my bed, my stomach heaving up and down. I pulled my diary out from under my mattress and began to write. After a couple minutes, I closed my diary and forced my exhausted legs out from under me. I immediately fell down when my body gave up. After picking myself up and regaining my balance, I hid the diary safely back under the mattress and looked up. 3

My green room was closing in on me and my stomach felt like someone had just stabbed me and was slowly turning the knife. I stumbled to my bathroom a few feet away from my bed and poured myself a cup of water. I gulped it all down at once and felt even sicker. My head was foggy and my eyes were watery. I hadn’t eaten anything that day and I had just swallowed five extreme diet pills. I felt something coming up from inside me and I collapsed on the hard, cold bathroom floor with my head hanging over the toilet.4

After minutes of throwing up, I flushed the toilet and wiped my mouth with a towel. Before buckling down on my sheets, I scrubbed my face clean and washed my hands with the smelliest soap. This was all so familiar with me. It happened every night. Although usually, I was the one making myself throw up. 5

6

I never really understood why at the age of 11, I became bulimic. I don’t remember the first time that angry voice inside my head started controlling everything I did. Or the first time I felt unbeautiful, or the first day I chose not to eat. I was so young; all I wanted to be was thin and pretty. Being beautiful and skinny was all I ever wished for on my birthday. 7

The voice’s name was Mia, and she said if I obeyed her, I would be the most stunning girl in my seventh grade class. She told me what to eat, when to eat, and how much to eat. Mia taught me how to throw up and how to exercise. She told me how to fight the pain and how to accept the excruciating hunger cramps. 8

9

The day my mother found out I was purging, I was in tears the whole ride home from school. I wasn’t crying for her, I wasn’t crying for me, not for my family or my friends, I was crying in fear of Mia, for what she’d make me do that night as a result of my failure of keeping her a secret.  10

My mother made me look in the mirror and she’d make me tell myself that I was beautiful. But with my tear-stained cheeks and my smeared eye shadow, I just couldn’t do it and ran downstairs to my room. I locked the door and cried myself to sleep. That is, until Mia woke me. She made me get out of bed, do 100 sit-ups, 50 pushups, 65 crunches, and swallow 7 diet pills without water. By the time I got back to bed and finished my homework, it was 2am. 11

I woke up the next morning and squeezed my stomach. It was flat at the top, a little bit bulging with abs, but there was still fat at the bottom. I walked to my mirror and lifted up my shirt, revealing red marks and bruises from my abusing hands. I sucked in my tummy and felt my ribs. I let out my breath and was almost in tears. All this hard work and I cant even see one rib without sucking my fat belly in. Then the voice came back.12

"You’re a disgrace"
-Shut up
"Look at yourself"
-I’m looking
"You have nothing"
-Be quiet
"No beauty, no boyfriend, no nothing, just a big stomach."13

Now I was crying. Mia was right: I had nothing. And if I wanted to get something, I needed to work harder and listen to her more. 14

Days went by and I dropped maybe 5 pounds. People at school said I looked good, but Mia said I looked horrible. I listened to her. Weeks went by and I lost another 5 pounds. I started popping more pills and the fat came off more easily that way. I swallowed even more pills and went for longer runs. Every time my family went out to eat, I’d excuse myself right afterwards and throw up. 15

It wasn’t until I told my best friend, that rumors started going around in school and more people were becoming aware of my disorder. That was when Mia cracked down on me, saying I had to be extra careful. All this emotion and pressure from her and my family was building up. I had practically no friends at school, (my best friend went to another school) and tension between my parents was strengthening. 16

Soon they broke up and I fell apart. I was absolutely shattered like broken glass. My best friend said if I continued with Mia, that she’d leave me. This was an addiction. No one could stop me. No one could help me. Mia and I were inseparable. So she left me, I had no one except Mia. She had me, and I had her. 17

That was when I started cutting. I didn’t want to die, even though I was slicing my wrist. I had no clue I was slashing the flesh right above one of my main blood streams. I just wanted to get all my pain out. I wanted the frustration with my parents and the anger with my best friend to leave me. I wanted to be numb, to feel nothing. The blood kept my mind focusing on something else then on throwing up and binging. 18

I can never forget the day my mother found out I was a wrist-cutter. She yelled at me and called me an idiot. She threw her hands everywhere and started to cry. I began to cry, too because I didn’t want to see her so sad. I just wanted to be a good daughter, to be good at everything, to be the prettiest and care-free little girl in the world. I wanted to be respected. This cutting was just a way of coping and living up to that dream. 19

20

After several weeks of support from my family and therapy sessions with a woman named Nancy, I finally resolved what was wrong and proved to my mother that I was completely recovered. Mia and the depression were all gone.21

Or so I thought.22

It was the day I weighed myself the first time in 3 months that turned me back into a troubled teenage girl. The scale read: 140 pounds. Holy shit! I cannot be 12 years old and 140 pounds. NO WAY. So in no time I was starving myself and throwing up. One time I got so desperate that I even fasted for 2 whole days straight. I got down to 127 and was relieved to see those familiar numbers. But still, that monster came back and was growling louder than ever before. But her name was not Mia, no. Her name was Ana. And she was vicious.