I choose life.

Today I am choosing life.

Today I am choosing Freedom.

Freedom from the voice inside my head,

Freedom from the behaviors that have starved my body

and freedom from the setbacks that deprived my soul.

In choosing recovery,

I will gain happiness,

and freedom.

But more importantly,

I'll claim myself back,

from the demon that has been controlling me for so long.

After 2 years of a brewing eating disorder, I started recovery in November 2016. In a nutshell, it was hard, and it had its ups and downs, but I persevered through it and was weight restored by the following summer of 2017. I thought all was well. I was feeling good and could exercise again. Not to mention I had just made the transition to being Vegan in June 2017 and was feeling awesome!

Fast forward to September and everything changed.

How did everything change? Well that requires a bit of a back story.

My dad had gotten a new job up in Orlando in May 2017. Having lived in Miami my whole life, that meant we had to move. Miami is only 4 hours from Orlando, but It took a toll on my family and I. I had to say goodbye to a high school I was just starting to feel like myself in, and I had to say goodbye to the life I was used to.

To be honest though, I was kind of excited for the move. I felt like God was directing my family and I towards change because he knew we would just remain stuck if we stayed where we were.

Anyway, upon moving, my parents had scheduled for me to get surgery on my hand the following month. I had previously broken it badly in June while running and since it did not heal properly, the doctor was suggesting I get surgery done. I was anxious, but It was just my hand, I didn't think it was going to be that bad. Little did I know how big of a toll that surgery would have on my mental health.

I had been keeping a consistent workout routine since being weight restored and going vegan. I had even joined the cross country team at my new HS. After the surgery, my workouts had to be limited. My doctor told me no exercise, as the sweat could moisten the bandage and the surgery scar could get infected. For some reason, I remember feeling a great deal of anxiety. I was scared of the toll not working out would have on me. ***In all reality, not working out is fine. One day, or even one month without exercise won't make or break someone. Our body is meant to go through phases or "seasons," and we must honor that. In the moment though, I wasn't thinking of the big picture.***

With these thoughts constantly occupying my mind after the surgery, someone was able to slip his way back into the forefront of my brain: Ed.

I began to feel like I had to "eat less" since I was no longer working out. So, in agreement with Ed, I slowly began to restrict again, but not as much to draw attention. It began with checking calorie labels again and choosing the lower calorie option. Then it went on to skipping a night snack and cutting out dessert.

A couple days after the surgery, my mom and I went out for smoothie bowls. It was this experience that marked the beginning of Ed slowly taking over my life. I flipped out over not liking the taste and I refused to eat the rest of it out of fear eating it would be a "waste of calories."

Before Ed completely took over my life again, my mom and I had signed up for the Star Wars half marathon. I was super excited to get back to running, since my doctor had cleared me to run and exercise again in November. Once November hit, I took off, hitting the gym almost every day to get in a run or a strength training workout. It made me feel good, sure, but letting it grow into an obsession took a turn for the worst.

I began cranking up the mileage to 3 miles, 4 miles, 5 miles, without compensating with increasing my intake as well. I was still consumed with the thought that I could in no way afford to eat that much. If anything I needed to be working out to maintain my physique and to not get "fat." On top of that I was maintaining a vegan lifestyle, which requires even MORE food than the standard American Diet considering that plant foods are evidently less calorie dense. This put me at a calorie deficit that would only build in the coming months and set me on a restriction high.

Sure I was running and all, but I wasn't happy. The real me was stuck behind bars, pounding at the walls, begging for someone to listen and let her out.

I continued to run vigorously until February, when my mom told me I could no longer run.

I flipped.

My anxiety came back and I didn't know what else to do but break down and cry. I felt like my life was going to end and that this meant I had to restrict even more in order to afford to eat. So what did I do? I restricted even more. I became more meticulous with counting and would keep a strict menu of foods I could and wouldn't eat. I would restrict to the point where I'd binge on dairy free ice cream (that I knew I was minorly allergic to). My mom thought quitting exercise would help me get better, and I seriously thought it would too, but after seeing no improvement, she took me to the doctor in March.

The doctor told me he was concerned and that my weight was within the lower 9% BMI range for a girl my height and age. Much lower than the 50% range I was in when I had seen him in August. We talked some and came to the decision if I showed improvement in the following month then we wouldn't need to seek outside help.

I was all for it, or so I thought.

I had good days and bad days, but they lacked consistency. I'd eat over the low calorie amount I was used too and then freak out and take what felt like 10 steps backwards the following days.

I did end up running the Star Wars Half Marathon though. We couldn't get a refund, being that Disney would not allow it, so my mom and I had agreed to walk/jog it together. We thought it could be a nice experience for me and it was. She knew as well as I did that just saying no to exercise and then going back when I was weight restored again wasn't going to solve my mental relationship and behavior around it. I needed to cultivate a genuine love for it.

Running that half-marathon made me realize that I had a gift from God.

What was that gift? Endurance.

I completed the race in 2:51:05. Having not run in almost 2 months, I felt I did amazing! I didn't feel famished or tired, in fact, I felt like it was one of the best/ relaxing runs I'd have ever done! That day I might have felt good physically, but mentally? I was still suffering; however, that run made me realize that not only did I have the endurance to finish the race, but God has also given me the endurance to push through this relapse I have fallen into and claim back my life.

On the downside, I continued to pursue Ed behaviors. I couldn't come to eat more. I knew how small I had gotten, but I just couldn't come to eat more.

If I am so unhappy with being underweight and skinny, why am I still fighting the idea of gaining weight?

I honestly don't know.

I think it goes back to how I fell into my eating disorder in the first place. Being overweight as a kid during most of my middle school years- when I had just hit puberty- made me feel insecure and like I had to change. My journey to lose weight and "get healthy" was following countless diets, punishment of restriction if I gained even an ounce, and praise by myself and others if then number on the scale dropped. After that experience, one could say that I have an issue reversing that mentality in my head that not all weight gain is "bad."

Fast forward to now.

This past week has sent me in a tailspin. After going back for my follow up appointment at the Doctor's, it didn't go so well. We talked more about my past, and coming to terms with admitting that I am not okay, not just mentally, but physically. The doctor requested I get some blood tests done and I readily agreed. After talking to him, I really wanted to make an effort to get better. I was done letting my fear be greater than my will to fully recover from this.

I got a phone call from school during lunch from my mom two days later. I froze. She never tried to call me during school. I called her back though, and it was like my life flipped upside down in a matter of seconds. My blood work showed that I was extremely low in protein and that there was no time to mess around anymore.

I never thought I'd push myself to the extent where this disorder was dangerously affecting my health, but my life in this moment was teetering in Ed's hands.

I was terrified.

I didn't mean for this to happen.

In this moment, a wave of fear rolled over me. Face to face with possible death, I knew deep down I did not want to die. No. There was still a young woman in here, with a destiny and ambition to explore this life and live.

I have made the decision to respond to this by choosing life. In choosing life, I am choosing to accept help from an E.D. support team and my parents and I are currently looking into me participating in an outpatient program.

I cannot fully convey how scared I am. A part of me wants to shrink down and not want to change. But another part of me knows I need to. I fear change because the last time I committed and pursued recovery, I was still extremely insecure and unhappy on the inside. However, I am going to throw away the past and focus on now. Nothing guarantees that what happened before will happen again. With God by my side, I am the creator of my own reality. He has given me this chance to fix what I didn't fix the first time around: my mental relationship with myself.

I don't know what is going to happen next for me, but I am determined to push through this fear and to recover.

That same day I got my blood results back, I marked my commitment to getting better with an ice cream at Disney's Hollywood Studios. It was very good! In doing it, I went against Ed's food rule that I couldn't eat past 8:00 P.M & the idea that I couldn't get the ice cream because my mom wasn't getting any...but more on that in another post!

With finals coming up in the next 3 weeks and the end of the School year approaching, I am most likely going to be starting treatment in the next couple of weeks. If you were to ask me right now how committed I am, I'd tell you that my fear is still a great deal bigger than my will to recover. But I will continue to press forward, because I don't want to keep going to bed not knowing if I'll wake up the next day, or scream and cry over having a little something extra at 11:00 P.M.

The past 5 years of my life I have dedicated to self-sabotaging myself through extreme binging/restricting. Today I say no more.

I am sorry for keeping this in the dark. I am sorry for not being open about my struggles, but rather suppressing them in order to be who I thought everyone would like more. Moving forward, I am making a pact with myself to be more open about my recovery journey going forward, and my journey to claiming back my health. I will strive to continue to have faith that the lord and the divine universe have my back and are looking out for me, no matter what. They are looking out for each and every single one of us.

Eating disorders suck.

They are hell.

If you are struggling, please don't feel alone. Speak to someone. I am here to support you as best I can. We can do this together. We are strong.

They say change happens when we feel most vulnerable. I hope my vulnerability can help spread the message the importance of mental health awareness and how being open and honest about your struggles is a symbol of strength and not weakness.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. God bless you.