To Lose Myself - A Story of Anorexia

Sometimes I weave stories about myself just to appear different. To make myself more interesting, to be noticed. To fit in. It's thrilling to know that the words that spill out of my mouth are not true, but people believe them anyway. People think this character I have created is me; I can hide within this person so no one knows who I really am. And I can fit in, without doing anything but opening my mouth.1

The problem is, when the character I've created for myself becomes less fiction and more reality. At times, I have to do things to keep this character real and believable to the rest of the world. But soon these things too become less of an illusion and they occur more frequently. So frequently that I'm unable to stop, that I almost enjoy it. That's how it began... I don't know how it ends yet. 2

My name is... well, that's not necessary, is it? There is no need for the knowledge of who I am to understand this story. Only what I am. Rather, what I was and what I have become. The point is, this can happen to anyone. Right? I can't be the only one. There are others like me who struggle. 3

I am a ballerina. I have been for as long as I can remember. My mother has been pushing me since I was young to be the best that I can be. Better than the best that I can be. It was her dream to be a professional ballerina. But one drunken night with someone she can't even remember led to a "mistake," as she calls it. That mistake is me. 4

Now, instead of dealing with her mistake and making something else with her life, she is morphing this mistake into the life she wanted. She wants me to live her dream. And unfortunately, there is nothing I can do about it. Any interest I show in something other than ballet is instantly crushed. Even schoolwork takes a back seat to ballet. I could be a genius and she wouldn't care, as long as I can cram my toes into a pair of point shoes.5

I'm not meant to do ballet. Never have been, never will be. And the others in my classes know this. They used to mock me and my mother's predicament. I was constantly ridiculed about my looks, weight, and skill level. I tried everything to get them to like me. But nothing ever worked until... I lied.6

My first lie to them was the biggest fault of my life, thus far. I told them, in essence, that I was anorexic. That I was no longer eating anymore. I had read it in a magazine that some girls do this to appear cool, so I decided that just telling them would do no harm. I didn't actually have to go through with it, not right away at least. 7

After that, I had to eat in secrecy. At first, I said I was reducing a food group each month. But soon the food groups ran out and the months kept going. I was forced to eat nothing at school or practice to hide my lie, to keep my character alive. But, upon arriving home each night, I would gorge on whatever I could get my hands on. These binges often led me to throw up all that I had eaten, leaving my stomach empty again. I feeling that I began to subconsciously enjoy so much that the binges stopped, nearly all together. 8

The other girls were finally accepting me. They thought I was doing this all for ballet. To maintain my figure. A few girls in my class were anorexic, and they were the most committed to our craft. Before I knew it, I was grouped with them. I too was anorexic.9

I look at myself in the mirror now and I am disgusted at what I see. I'm withering away, yet it's never enough. If my bones were the only thing left of me it wouldn't be enough. But everyone's proud of me now. They all think I'm finally dedicated. My mother beams like the sun when I reject her cooking. It's what she always wanted; it's what they all wanted. For me to be like them. For me to lose myself.10