I am an 18-year-old Muslim girl and tomorrow marks the first day of Ramadan.
Ramadan is the 30 days when as a Muslim I must fast from sunrise to sunset. No food and no water. Usually I’m ecstatic for this time of the year. Being more religious, feeling a sense of reason in the world, and being connected in a way with the millions of other Muslims in the world in a way that is indescribable. Ramadan was important to me because it made me understand why I do what I do. Why I believe in what I believe in.
This year is different.
This year I’m scared.
This year I’m losing faith.
Ramadan is the worst time of year for someone recovering from an eating disorder.
I am being told not only by my own twisted mind but in a way by God to not eat. It gives me a twisted sense of joy. Every meal missed is a victory. Every calorie burned is a win. The thing about Ramadan is that I can skip meals and no one cares. My parents are proud of me. Proud. Proud when I don’t eat from sunrise to sunset.
I have been okay for three months now.
I’ve been able to keep my food down, to smile, to laugh, to love again… but I’m scared. Tomorrow I’m going to starve myself. Tomorrow I’m going to relapse. And there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.