Our first submission piece in Eating Disorder Awareness Week comes from Morgan, titled “He Called Me The ‘T’ Word.”
Throwback Thursday, time to choose a tacky photo to make a thoughtful post about good times from years before:
“#tbt to freshman year homecoming- miss yah girly”
Steady stream of likes flow in, slowing to a trickle as the day goes on.
3 hours after posting, there was a dink of a notification:
“Looking really thin Morgan, *thumbs up emoji*”
Looking really thin Morgan.
Looking really thin Morgan?
Commented by some irrelevant asshole I for some reason allowed to take me to Jr. prom.
With one word, that “friendly” frat boy sent me back to my freshman year body. #tbt to the feet that broke all the mirrors in the bathroom, the monstrous voices of self ridicule screaming to destroy the distorted reflection. #tbt to the skin, the brushed, red, puffy, wrists, from the snap, snap, snapping of rubber bands in a futile attempt to tame a growling stomach. #tbt to the hands that opened the pill bottle, slimy leeches of depression sucking out any hope I had left. #tbt to freshman year homecoming.
There were so many other words he could have used since he felt so inclined to comment on my appearance:
“Looking really good Morgan”
“Looking really nice Morgan”
“Looking really pretty Morgan.”
Or, he could have just not said anything all, just double tap my photo and scrolled on absentmindedly as he walked from class to class.
But no. He chose thin. “Looking really thin Morgan.”
Thin, the terrible illness that made it impossible to keep down anything. Restricting my meals, making me go hungry. Thin, the terrorizing trainer that made me work my starved body to the point of exhaustion, point of collapse, point of breaking. Thin, the tremendous tide that slowly eroding any stone stronghold of self confidence I had.
The unobtainable, unhealthy, unrealistic, expectation that I have to actively work to exercise from hunting my thoughts and speech, was now on my Instagram.
“Looking really thin Morgan.”
And there I was, waterfall of salt running endlessly down my cheeks, anger warming my insides.
How could I let myself to get so upset over a comment by someone so irrelevant and unimportant to my life? A summer of therapy has taught me better, but the truth is no matter how far in recovery, 6 days, 6 weeks, 6 months, 6 years, that four letter word will always remind me of the time I almost ended my life.
Being affected by that word is not a failure on the path of my recovery. If anything it can be a triumph, it’s hearing that word, and knowing that I am so much more.
I am artistic. I am beautiful. I am cute. I am demure. I am elegant. I am feminine. I am graceful. I am humble. I am irreplaceable. I am joyful. I am kind. I am lovable. I am majestic. I am nice, odd, pretty, quirky, radiant, sassy, thoughtful, unashamed, valid, witty,
and I am 110% okay with never being thin.
Check out Morgan’s other wonderful submission, here.
Remember, you are not alone,
and you are loved.
This post is a part of our Eating Disorder Awareness Week. Find the other posts here:
An Introduction To Eating Disorder Week – What are Eating Disorders? – He Called Me the “T” Word” – An Empty Home & An Empty Stomach: My Lifelong Struggle With Eating Disorders – The Fine Print – Doubt: Sarah’s Poem –A Journal on the Imperfections of Perfection – Nervosa
Want to submit to this site and share your story, art, or article related to mental health or mental illness? Email email@example.com