What It Feels Like To Battle Anorexia


There is a voice living inside my head and it’s making me knock on Death’s door.

It tortures me every waking day — pushing me to run on the treadmill for an hour just so I could burn those calories I have gained for eating that goddamn apple for lunch, making me ditch all my plans with anyone just because I still have to do a hundred push-ups, and filling me with a furious desire to lose more than just my weight. This little demonic voice that always finds its way to my head is called Ana.  

She penetrated me without preamble. I have no idea how or why she was born and I’m not sure when she arrived, either. All I know is that she made her nest in me. She huddled inside my head — made roots in every part of me and now, my body is possessed.

Ana is everywhere. Her perfect silhouette followed me wherever I go — in the kitchen, looking at me with disgust as I stare intently on the freshly baked cookies in the oven.  Inside the bathroom, eyes fixed on me as I strip, mocking me for the body that I have, laughing at me for not making my bones stick out, and whispering that food is evil. Her voice was so low, yet so trident. She nourished herself from my dark thoughts, from my biggest fears.

The smell of burning ginger and cloves reminded me of my fate. Of how different I was from a normal teenager. Flashes of disgust can be seen right through my eyes and it’s becoming more visible day by day.  Ana flourished and I felt her inside me.

She blocked my veins with filthy words and I could hardly breathe. I lived with her. No, scratch that, I survived with her.

Ana was no friend, but a pretentious bitch companion. She fed me with lies and tricked me into believing that I deserve every filthy word there is. I drank her remarks and wept. Ana grew — like a flower watered with my tears.

The frustration brought by her presence was killing me and the pressure to be perfect was destroying me, in any way one could be destroyed.  

I completely have no idea on how to cut her roots out of my body. I don’t know if there is a way I could drag her from my rotting form to the deepest, darkest depths of hell. Because every time I think I got rid of her, well, it turns out I’m wrong. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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