“Did your anorexia just kind of .. happen? Or did it gradually develop?” CLICK HERE FOR THE ANSWER

I am not anonymous like I used to be. I post photos of myself once a day because of “popular demand” (lol). I trust that nobody I know in person will ever reveal this blog to others. Please don’t make me change my mind about it.

Anorexic, with purging tendencies. I have good and bad days (in means of eating). I do my absolute best to eat as little as possible. However, lately, I’ve been failing myself, and I’ve been eating more than a fucking fat kid who eats cake for a living does. It’s terrible. 

Unless you get to know me, you will only know that my name is Megan. This blog is a secret, so I don’t want to let people I know in real life find me on here and give them the chance to gossip/gawk more than they already do.

I’m in my late teens and currently reside in Canada with my parents and younger sibling. I’ve been diagnosed with numerous disorders including PTSD, social anxiety and depression. My anxiety has lessened over time, because I started working in customer service, unwillingly at first. I was also diagnosed with anorexia nervosa in April/May 2010. I am currently a relapsing patient after forced recovery.

So, how did this happen? Well, I’ll start with my past.

Growing up as a child, I only saw my parents on weekends or at night time. I was going to a babysitter until I was 13 years old, which in my opinion, was ridiculous. My parents would drop me off at 6 or 7 in the morning with my younger brother. We would go to school with all the other kids, go back to the babysitter’s after school, have a snack afterschool and leave again at around 6 or 7 at night (sometimes later). Being so young, I had to go to bed at 7 or 8, so needless to say, I didn’t get to spend much time with my parents. On weekends I would see both of my parents, but they were often stressed out from work and just wanted to relax or sleep in. So we didn’t tend to do much. During the summer we’d go to amusement parks once in a blue moon and stuff, but I don’t remember a lot of my younger years. I remember being abandoned at babysitters’ houses and being picked up later. But that’s about it. I was relatively happy growing up. I made the best of things, since I didn’t know any different.

When I reached middle school (11 years old), things started to change. Schoolwork and grades suddenly became more important, there were a lot more friends who liked to pick fights, and people were starting to reach puberty. I was often very overwhelmed by these feelings. Too much was changing too fast. Grade 6 went by relatively fine: I had lots of friends, I wasn’t worried about my looks or what people thought of me, etc. But when grade 7 came and I turned 12 years old, my life took a horrible detour.

I became emotionally involved with a boy who was a year older than me. He went to my school and seemed to be an okay guy.. at first. As our relationship progressed he started to beat me in any way, shape or form that he could. He only did so in private. He would grab me by the hair, throw me down hills, punch and kick me, and slap my face. I started wearing very heavy eyeliner and mascara to bring attention away from my bruises and cuts. As things got worse I also started wearing very baggy, black articles of clothing.

One of my friends didn’t like this boy I was dating. It was pretty obvious why, but I disregarded it. She decided one day - in June 2007 - that she was going to let me go out for lunch with him to the local Mcdonalds. Everybody at school used to go to it, so it’s not like it was a big deal. She was reluctant, and I would find out why she had bad feelings about it later. When he and I started walking there, he decided that he wanted to go to the forest beside the firestation instead. It wasn’t too far from our original destination, so I agreed. He promised we’d to to Mcdonalds later. I followed him into the forest and we sat down, resting on a large tree. Things didn’t seem right. We were alone, isolated, and I was getting bad vibes. Surely enough, not long after we got there he decided he wanted to “have some fun”. To make a long story short, he raped me. I was traumatized from then on. I didn’t tell anybody about what happened until 2010 and even now the memory still haunts me every single day. We never did go to Mcdonalds.

To this day, I still think it’s my fault that this happened to me all those years ago. In therapy sessions, I let my therapist know that it wasn’t my fault, but I’m only lying to myself. It is my fault. I could have prevented it from happening. I could have said no to him, I could have broken up with him when he started to abuse me. I could have told someone about how horribly he was treating me. But no, I was a dumb kid and just let everything build up and explode.  

After the sexual assault, I lost most of my friends. I was too isolated from everyone, and nobody understood why. On the day of the attack, I was forced to skip the afternoon of school, which was very not like me. The police were called, the school officials went searching for me when I didn’t return, and my parents were also informed of the situation. Everybody was worried about me. I became extremely depressed, since I was grounded for a long time, my birthday being somewhere in there. Being grounded gave me a lot of time to think; too much for my own good. This is when I firmly started to believe that it was my fault. The summer was hell, but I got through it.

In grade 8, I met a boy who was there to replace my previous abusive boyfriend. Things were amazing at the start of that relationship, as well. We were dating for 8 months total and I very much so believed that he would be my one and only. Things changed. After our relationship ended in the year 2009, I rekindled my relationship with an old friend. She helped me through the hard time. He decided that he would come back to me after a few months of being broken up. Me, being extremely vulnerable, agreed that I would smoke weed with him in my backyard. That was stupid of me. He laced the weed with something, I still don’t know what it was, but it made me lose all sense of control and reality. I pretty much couldn’t even walk or control my body. I guess that was his plan. He decided that it would be a great time to rape me. Yes, I was raped. AGAIN. Different guy, same shit.

Moving on. For the rest of 9th grade (2009), I was isolating again. I stopped caring about myself all together. I didn’t wear makeup, barely showered at all, and didn’t sleep much. I looked pretty shitty, but could care less. Summer went by and I still (I don’t know how she possibly did it) had the support of my one best friend. Never did she leave me alone or abandoned.

Grade 10 approached and I was very hopeful for a good year. I was excited when I entered my English class on the first day of school and saw someone I knew. Really, it should have been bad news. He had a bad reputation and long story short, he fucked me over. He convinced me he loved me and wanted to be with me, then when I fell for all his lies and allowed him to cheat on his girlfriend, he screwed me over. He told his girlfriend about everything that had happened. Her and I weren’t on a good terms in the first place, but this made it worse. She pretty much wanted to kill me, but who can blame her? I would have, too. He ruined everything for me. He made me a completely different person. I was more depressed than I had ever been in my entire life. He spread lies about me about how much of a whore I was, all the things I supposedly did with him, and made the entire school spread rumors and hate me. I had absolutely no friends. Not one. My 80-90 average dropped to a 50-60. 

Soon, I began to cut. I was so alone. So very alone. I felt like there was no hope in my life. My anorexia started in February of 2010 once I decided I needed to have control. Originally I started off by not eating, but not on purpose. More because I was just too depressed to. However, things progressed. I became extremely sick and was admitted to the hospital in May. The program I was admitted to had other “troubled teens” there. Most of them were “just” depressed. I was one of the only real “outcasts” there. I met a boy there and I’d recognized him from school, but we’d never talked. He made me fall for him. Hard. After I was discharged from the hospital, we got together and started dating.

My eating disorder didn’t improve when I was discharged. Rather, it got way worse. Nobody could make me eat. I reached my lowest weight in July, which was 89 pounds. I was taken to an outpatient eating disorder clinic for forced recovery. Unfortunately, my parents listened to the bad advice that the (clearly) under educated social worker had for them about my ED. I was “recovered” in October 2010. I wasn’t really recovered, though. They just felt that I was fat enough to stop “therapy”. Honestly, it just pissed me off. I was still with my boyfriend, so it was very helpful, since he was understanding, and a wonderful person and role model. I gained weight too quickly (40 pounds in 2 months), so I had really dark, obvious stretch marks on my inner thighs, breasts, and hips. This made me extremely self conscious. I attempted to ignore thoughts about food, but they never really did go away. I contemplated and attempted suicide numerous times. I deleted almost all of the photos of me when I was at my lowest weight from facebook, photobucket, my computer and anywhere else I used to store my photos because it was extremely triggering to me when I was in “recovery”, so these next few photos are the best I can show you.

Recently (in the past year), my thoughts about anorexia have come back. I’ve started to restrict my eating, isolate, hate my body, etc. I’m officially relapsing. Do I want this? Yes. Why? Because I need control. I have absolutely no control in my life. Not over school, not over money, not over life at all. I’ve been through so much shit in my life, and even though I know it could be so much worse, it still sucks. So you know what? I think I should at least be allowed to control my weight and body. It’s MINE, not anybody else’s. People may be able to spread rumors about me and bring me down, but they aren’t able to control what I do to or think about my body.

So far, I’ve been able to keep my eating disorder a secret from my family. I don’t know how that managed to happen, but it has. I guess my mom is just in denial. Whatever. I’d rather die than go into forced recovery again. 

I just need control, and a slim body. No matter what it takes….

I would never wish this hell upon anyone, not even my worst enemy. Please never become like me. I am ruining my life day by day.