I was 17 when my father lied and told me we were going to a doctor's appointment that led to me being involuntarily committed to a psychiatric facility for 6 months. My whole family hoped I'd come out healthy, but when I turned 18 and left, my journey to what you see on the left picture began. After reaching pure misery, slowly decaying and meticulously hiding it from everyone, I realized that if a team of professional doctors, a closed facility where you were constantly monitored, and nurses force-feeding you didn't help me...I was really the only one who would ever be able to. The moment an Anorexic willingly decides to take the first step into getting better is like deliberately throwing yourself onto moving cars on a highway. In your heart you legitimately believe you're about to die, and you're not ready, but the tiny army somewhere in your brain that the disease has so viciously silenced is screaming at you to do it.

So I took the bite (literally), and let myself feel out of control for a day. I had never felt so much pain and anxiety in my life, and that's why I knew it was the right thing to do.The following weeks were full of self-hatred, regret, willingness to go back, and no one around to stop me or tell me otherwise. It was a civil war in my brain; the disease and the healthy part of me were in a constant battle.

I knew my life was in my hands. And I wasn't going to spend the years that are basically characterized by building onself by destroying myself instead. I wanted so many things for my life, and saying "one day I will get better" became a broken record I had to smash. "Why not today?" became what I would tell myself each morning. So I did, all the while maintaining my grades and getting into one of the top colleges. I don't know how I did it, but I'm sure as hell glad I did:) Healing is possible.