A Letter to Myself When I Was Diagnosed With Anorexia

Dear Lize,

I know you’re only 14 and you haven’t had it easy in life thus far. I’m sorry to tell you things will get much worse before they get better, but have hope. What feels like it will crush you will actually pass. The darkness will lift, and when it comes again, you will be prepared and know how to handle it. You will have to fight hard, harder than you might be able to imagine right now, but you will break through the depression, the feelings of hopelessness and the self-hate, and will eventually discover all the suffering you experience won’t be in vain.

When the therapist tells you that you have anorexia, you won’t be familiar with the term. Many years after you hear the term for the first time, the word “anorexia” will become established and well-known, but don’t be scared of a diagnosis that isn’t common right now. The obsessions and compulsive behaviors you experience and engage in are part of your eating disorder. You may not realize it now and might feel stubborn and indestructible and even angry at the thought of changing, but those very behaviors could kill you. In fact, you will come very close to death before things turn around.

When you become an outstanding runner in high school and feel like the anorexia is helping you run faster, know that it’s really not. You have talent and you work hard; that’s why you run well. Don’t listen to your coach when he talks about your weight. You will not run more slowly after gaining one pound. That is ridiculous, and you should know your health is more important than trying to please others. Mostly, when you have to back off running, have hope that you will still be OK. It may feel like your dreams were shattered when your running career came to an early end due to injuries and complications related to anorexia, but you can form new dreams. Keep dreaming, because there are many avenues you haven’t yet explored.

No matter what struggles you go through, know that you are not alone. You have friends and family members who will not give up on you. You will make them proud when, against all odds, you go from having seizures and being told you won’t make it to flourishing. It won’t happen overnight. Your journey back to health will take years, but you won’t regret taking that first leap of faith into the unknown territory of recovery. 

Keep in mind, people who don’t understand your illness will say hurtful and unkind things. Most of the time, they don’t mean it. They just don’t know what can be triggering to someone struggling with anorexia. When your neighbor keeps saying you “look healthy,” don’t take it as something bad. Try to see that he means well and that it’s a sign that you are succeeding. You are fighting your inner demons that he doesn’t realize seem real to you. That negative self-talk in your head will lessen in time as you continue to heal.

As you get older, more and more people will have suggestions on how to overcome eating disorders. Know that everyone who struggles is unique and has his or her own path to travel. There is no secret formula or pill that will cure an eating disorder, but there are key factors to address in recovery. You don’t have to alter who you are in order to recover; you just have to rediscover who that person is, and you will find her, Lize. I promise you will.

Listen to your mom. She is wise, and she loves you.

Though it seems impossible, you will become a mentor to people struggling one day. Make sure you are in a place where you can give back before you do, because recovery takes a lot of energy and effort. You have to be strong and know how to create healthy boundaries when you help others, but giving back is essential and will make you feel better. You don’t have to be cured or 100 percent to start giving back, but make sure you keep taking care of yourself when you do.

One day, you will teach others the following:

The issues you have around food are a red flag that something else is going on in your life. learn to identify real emotions. “I feel fat” sometimes means there’s something else to address that’s unrelated to food and body image.

You are not your eating disorder.

Trying to control your food is a way to cope with uncomfortable or unidentified feelings. You can’t control what happens around you, so it’s tempting to try to control what you do or do not eat.

Your identity is not based on what you do or how thin you are.

Be kind to yourself.

It takes work to reach self-acceptance and self-love when you are recovering from an eating disorder.


The Mighty is asking the following: Write a letter to yourself on the day of the diagnosis. If you’d like to participate, please send a blog post to [email protected] Please include a photo for the piece, a photo of yourself and 1-2 sentence bio. Check out our Submit a Story page for more about our submission guidelines.


To the One Friend Who Stuck With Me Through My Eating Disorder

To my best friend,

I remember the first time you came to visit me in the hospital. I had a NG-tube up my nose, and I was so nervous it would scare you or that you’d see me differently. Of course, it was just my own anxiety — you were hardly taken aback when you walked onto the locked psychiatric ward to find your best friend in one of the worst states of her life.

When I was first diagnosed with anorexia, you were the first person I told. It was a good choice on my part, because you gave me a hug and told me everything was going to be alright. You didn’t judge me. You made me feel safe and like I could talk to you about anything.

Throughout this journey, you’ve time and time again made me feel like I could forget about my problems when I was around you. When I first called you from the hospital, you distracted me with stories from your summer. When I got out, you were there to celebrate with me. When I told you I had to go back into treatment, you took it in a stride and helped me figure out what I was going to pack.

As my illness has progressively gotten worse, I’ve gradually lost contact with the large majority of my friends. You are the only person I held onto, because you are the only person I can truly spill my guts to. I feel wholeheartedly at peace when I am with you. I chose to use the little energy I had to maintain my relationship with you because you are, to put simply, my best friend. You have stuck by me through thick and thin, and you have never once given up on me.

I want you to know I appreciate you. I know I may not always tell you that, but it’s true. You make me feel truly happy, and I love you with all of my heart.



Katy and her best friend take a selfie.
Katy and her best friend.

The Mighty is for the following: Write a thank you note to someone who helped you through your mental illness. What about that person makes him or her a good ally? What do you want them to know? If you’d like to participate, please send a blog post [email protected] Please include a photo for the piece, a photo of yourself and 1-2 sentence bio. Check out our Submit a Story page for more about our submission guidelines.

To the Little Girl With an Eating Disorder

Dear sweet child,

I know your pain, I know your torment and I know your struggles. I can see through your plastered on smile and fake laughter. I can see through your artificial confidence. Why, you ask? Because I’ve been where you are now. Truth is, maybe I’m still there.

But sweet little girl, you are worth more. You are more than a number on a scale, or the size on the itchy tag attached to your jeans. You are more than what’s on the outside. I’m sure many people have told you this, and I know it can feel hard to believe. Maybe you you look in the mirror and want to die. You don’t understand how people see you. You tell yourself they’re blind, or that they’re lying to make you feel better about yourself. But my love, they are not. You are one of a kind. There is no one else on this world like you.

I don’t know if I’ll make an impact, because as I’ve said, I’m sure you’ve heard numerous times how beautiful you truly are, but I hope you’ll listen. I’m a young woman who feels the same way about herself. A young woman, who at age 10, started starving herself. A young woman who was once that same 10-year-old, who is now almost 23. A young woman who believed those lies for so long  she almost died way too many times to count. A young woman who spent most of her young life hating herself, wondering why she is the way she is. And sweet little girl, I don’t want you to make the same mistakes that I have. Anorexia won’t bring you happiness, it will bring you the opposite. It made me miserable. You might not be able to get out of bed, never mind run a race, or go to prom and dance, or even have the energy to just shower. Maybe you’ll become thin, but you’ll never see it yourself. No matter how much weight you lose, every time you look in the mirror, you will see the same girl staring back at you.

You see, you lose more than weight. I lost friends, jobs, boyfriends, sports, hobbies, my grades and my will to live. It left me laying in a hospital bed being force fed through a feeding tube.

You may be thinking that this will never happen to you, that you will stop before it gets to that point. Well precious child, I thought the same thing, and now, thirteen years later, I’m sitting in a nursing home being force fed through a tube, unable to walk because my muscles are too weak.

I wish at the age of 10 I had the words to reach out for help. Sure I can recover now, but I’ve not attended college yet and I can’t hold down a job. I’ve lost a lot of my life because of this.

So sweet girl, when I tell you you are beautiful, know I’m not lying. It’s the mirror lying to you. It is the voices in your head lying to you. My prayer and wish is that you start to believe this. Do for me what I could not do. You are worth so much more than all of this.


A young woman who cares.

If you or someone you know is struggling with an eating disorder, you can call the National Eating Disorders Association Helpline at 1-800-931-2237.

To Rachel Platten, Who Gives Me Strength to Conquer My Demons

I am sure you get many letters, fan mail and gifts. I didn’t send you a letter about how you’ve helped me because, well, I am sure you get lots of those. I recently saw you singing with a young girl who has cancer, and your song “Fight Song” helped her immensely. You see, there are many illnesses out there, not just physical ones but mental ones, too. And I want to express how you have helped me.

I have been struggling with anorexia nervosa for almost 13 years. People tend to brush it off because they don’t understand the facts about eating disorders. They quickly classify us as vain, attention-seeking and selfish. But this is far from the truth. There are many reasons I developed this disease. I have a lot of family issues and I have a personality trait of being a perfectionist (it’s my one sense of control). I didn’t have an image in my head of a celebrity’s body that I wanted to attain. I just wanted to be thin. I wanted to be skinny enough to be loved, to be perfect. I just wanted to be enough.

When my anorexia started at age 10, I didn’t even know what an eating disorder was, never mind that I had one. It quickly escalated and I developed severe medical issues. I have almost lost my life numerous times, and I believe the only reason I am alive has to be God. I’ve had heart damage, and there was one point where most of my organs were shutting down because I was in septic shock. My latest health scare happened a few months back. I started having multiple seizures a day. I ended up in the hospital where I spent three weeks trying to get them under control.

bekah georgy

Now, for the past month I have been stuck in a skilled nursing physical rehabilitation facility — a 22-year-old in a nursing home. I lost almost all muscle strength in my legs. I can’t even stand longer than 30 seconds, and that is with a lot of help and support from someone else, so technically I am doing half the work. I constantly think to myself, How did I let it get this bad? I would tell myself that I am done, that this is what is going to kill me.

Until one day, I was down in physical therapy and we decided to play a song to help me get through the excruciating pain that struck my legs. We played “Fight Song.” I instantly started crying while I was trying to stand. Tears of joy. It motivated me greatly. I carefully listened to the words and knew they applied exactly to my situation. I kept telling myself I will get better, I will be able to stand again and dance. I will conquer this eating disorder and depression and anxiety.

You see, my dream is to help people through music like music has helped me. I actually do sing — would I give anything to get to sing with you. I think people need to also see the reality of eating disorders — they are not glamorous, they are deadly diseases, tormenting and affecting you both mentally and physically. I call it cancer of the mind. I have tried to kill myself five times because I thought it was the only way out of this demon. But I thought you should know that “Fight Song” really helps. I also looked into the background of why you wrote it, and I resonate completely. I want to make it in the music industry as well. My dream is to help people through music like it has helped me.

I doubt you will get to read this, but I pray you will. You deserve to know your song is helping people of all struggles and challenges.

If you or someone you know needs help, please visit the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. You can also reach the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741-741. Head here for a list of crisis centers around the world.

The Crisis Text Line is looking for volunteers! If you’re interesting in becoming a Crisis Counselor, you can learn more information here.

The Mighty is asking the following: Share a powerful moment you or a loved one has had with a public figure. Or, write a letter to a public figure who you feel has helped you or a loved one through his or her work. If you’d like to participate, please send a blog post to [email protected] Please include a photo for the piece, a photo of yourself and 1-2 sentence bio. Check out our Submit a Story page for more about our submission guidelines.

Lead photo credit: YouTube user madbadhadsad screenshot

5 Real Reasons to Date a Girl With an Eating Disorder

Nothing screams “there’s so much misogyny and prejudice about mental illness in the world” louder than a good old-fashioned article about “five reasons to date a girl with an eating disorder.” But it’s more than that. Eating disorders are — quite appropriately — considered an illness that can affect people of all ethnicities, genders, ages and socioeconomic statuses. In other words, the presence of an eating disorder is as much a reliable predictor of various socioeconomic, cultural and personality traits in a person as a sprained ankle is: not at all.

The idea of dating someone because their illness makes it easier for you to get what you want is repulsive, if not sadistic, which is why I wanted to challenge that article and the prejudice surrounding mental health.

I could respond by describing what it’s like to have clumps of hair fall out every time you brush it. Or how hard it is to get through a day when your vision is blurred and you’re shaking with weakness. Or what it feels like to be trapped in your own head and tortured by your own thoughts. Or what it is like to have a mind so cloudy that you are unable to construct a sentence or concentrate long enough to hold a conversation. Or what it feels like to have a feeding tube inserted through your nose and down your throat. Or how humiliating a supervised shower is. Or what it is like to have someone else decide when you can see your own family.

But it seems illogical to respond to such a negative article in such a negative way. I chose instead to try to describe what mental illness, such as an eating disorder, feels like. I have only scratched the surface, but I hope I have used that destructive article as an opportunity to show a glimpse of what mental illness is like. From my experience, something good comes from all destructive things.

I have met some of the most beautiful people in my recovery from anorexia. By this, I mean people with so many truly amazing qualities — real beauty. I have written about just five of these qualities.

1. They are strong.

Recovery involves battling with your own mind every single day — facing your most terrifying nightmare on a regular basis. I don’t think there is anything braver than embarking on a journey you cannot rest from, even when you are so scared and so exhausted. To learn to override your thoughts and feelings, realize that your life is worth living, accept yourself, even like yourself, persist with friends and family as they try to understand and face the stigma and misconceptions of mental illness day in and day out takes real strength. There are few situations that take more strength than this to overcome.

2. They understand what it means to be patient.

Patience is such an important virtue — in our relationships with people around us, with our hopes and aspirations and to get through the tougher aspects of life. To recover from an eating disorder takes real patience. Patience with yourself as you try to comprehend why your thoughts are telling you to starve, that you are worthless and that no one could possible tolerate you, let alone love you. Patience when you take a few steps backward even though you want to go forward. Patience in accepting where you are, and patience to get to where you want to be. Patience with your friends and family when they unintentionally say things that hurt you as they try to help you. Patience to accept that everything takes time.

3. They are compassionate.

People recovering from an eating disorder or other mental illness know what it feels like to be hurting on the inside, but hiding behind a smile on the outside. They know what it feels like when the whole world is crashing down on you, and to feel broken at rock-bottom.

Sometimes we can be too wrapped up in life to notice that other people are suffering. But when you know what it is to be hurting, you begin to understand other people, to get a glimpse of their hurt — in fact, you feel it yourself and are compelled to show compassion and be there by their side.

4. They know the value of friendship.

Eating disorders, like other mental illnesses, tell you that everyone hates you. You deserve to be alone. You are not worth friendship. People in recovery know what it is to be terrifyingly lonely, even if you are surrounded by friendly faces — it’s part of being unwell. So recovery involves breaking down these false beliefs and recognizing that you are worth so much to your friends and family. But what’s more, it’s realizing your friends and family are worth so much to you, and to be human is to need other people to laugh and to cry with — to understand that relationships can seem scary and will be hard work, but have so much value.

5. They see how beautiful life can be.

We don’t choose to be alive. But those who are recovering from an eating disorder do.

Eating disorders consume your mind. They consume your feelings about yourself, your value, your worth. They consume your hopes and aspirations. They then consume your friends and family, leading you to believe you deserve this isolation. Finally they consume your body and your life. Eating disorders destroy a person’s whole existence. But to choose to recover is to choose to live. Each day isn’t something you just have to get through, but something you decided you want, and fought so hard to have. Going into life with this mindset, you cannot fail to appreciate how pretty a pink and orange sky looks, or how fun it is to mess around with your friends, or how good a cup of tea is, or how fuzzy a hug from someone you love feels, or how refreshing raindrops feel on your face, or how electric it feels when you make someone else smile. They have chosen to see how beautiful life can be.

In the words of Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, beautiful people do not just happen.

Follow this journey on Beautiful People Do Not Just Happen.

The Mighty is asking the following: Tell us a story about a time you encountered a commonly held misconception about your mental illness. How did you react, and what do you want to tell people who hold his misconception? If you’d like to participate, please send a blog post to [email protected] Please include a photo for the piece, a photo of yourself and 1-2 sentence bio. Check out our Submit a Story page for more about our submission guidelines.

When You Have to Schedule Your Living Around Surviving

On Thursdays, our socks must match. Tuesdays, you should wear nice underwear. Wednesdays, it’s best to put on a dress or something loose enough to hide the painful, jutting corners of your hips. You don’t want to trigger any of the others, she said to me, gently.

My illness is my part-time job these days. I keep consistent company with therapists, doctors, nurses, needles, pills and scales.

Their job is to keep me alive. They poke, prick and prod my body. I wince, and they tell me, repeatedly and patiently, that I must do as they say to keep from dying.

On Thursdays, our socks must match — we remove our shoes to step on the scale, and the first week, my toenail polish was chipped. Tuesdays, you want to wear nice underwear—that’s the only thing you leave on when the doctor and her resident take inventory of your anatomy. Wednesday, it’s best to put on a dress or something loose enough to hide the painful, jutting corners of your hips — because that is Group Day, and you’re the only one underweight, and all of us can’t help but notice the shapes of the others.

Sometimes I forget my classes, but I cannot forget my “recovery team.” They have my number and each others’, and as I criss-cross town I am aware of being always on their grid. It’s a safety net. It’s a prison. It’s a bridge and they swear on the other side there is Real Life. I choke down chalky protein shakes, alone and unamused, their promises ringing in my ears.

If things had been only a little different, I might be in an institution, they say. I’ve endangered myself, they remind me, so much that perhaps I don’t deserve custody of my own body. But I’m over 18, and I’m stubborn. I listen to them count my ribs and I hear them say just how serious it is, really. I take what they give me and I try to swallow.

Mondays we can wear what we like; on this day it’s just a quiet couch and 45 minutes where I try to say the truth to an understanding stranger with a Ph.D and a notebook. I wonder if he thinks I’m crazy. When I tell him I don’t “feel thin,” he can’t hide his surprise. When I tell him I’m doing better, he asks me to explain. My favorite is when we talk, not about food and poundage, but how hard I find it to believe in my pen and all the pages I hope to fill.

It’s a strange walk so far, a path high and narrow. From my perch I make long-distance calls to loved ones and beneath our conversations run the dark waters of their questions. They’d love to see a picture — are my elbows rounder, do my legs look thicker yet? But they’ll never ask. I tell them about my studies, my projects, and what surprised me this week. I don’t tell them I typed a paper in the student health waiting room between my blood work and nutrition appointments. I don’t mention my trips to counseling, my prescription refills, the maddening meal plans that eat up so much time and mind space.

I am taking steps across this bridge, trying to believe in the shore that so many speak of. Dry land where my body will be safe to use in the ways I used to love, without the need for chemical calibrations and endless cautionary lectures. “We’d rather you be an inpatient,” they’ve said, so many times, but I tell them I’m too in love with the world to leave it. One friend, an angry angel, said to me, “Then you have to keep yourself from dying.”

Sometimes my closest ones ask me for the numbers. I tell them what I can about the data — but the doctors keep some secrets. I told my sister I think I’m getting better because my bones hurt less when I sit on wooden benches.

I’m still chasing life, I swear I am. It’s what’s at stake, after all, but for now I must schedule my living around surviving. This week I spent 20 hours in treatment offices and on the subway to and from them.

But I’m still chasing life. I’m still trying to make art. I’m going on dates, and I’m drinking vanilla shakes, and I’m trying not to hate myself for landing so far from shore. I’m pinching my arms, hoping and dreading to find them growing soft with flesh, and I’m peering into books and trying to feel those old, fiery feelings that literature once ignited. I am looking for the parts of me I shed on my way down, for the pieces that were dropped while I fell victim to the poison in my head.

No one said a word for all those months I was melting. Maybe they felt their language would be clumsy. Maybe they were afraid to see. Either way, they were wrong to be quiet. It would have hurt, and healed. The truth, I mean.

Now, I live alone and it’s up to me to listen for it — the truth. It’s frighteningly hard some days. Doubt can echo so quickly against empty walls, and the thing called hope is mostly a trick in lighting. But there are things I’m still certain of. Moments I nail to the wall, like Peter Pan’s shadow, scraps of love, art and faith. On bleak mornings I find them there, a little limp and looking small in harsh light, but proving that once on a Yesterday I felt real, true, good. And I remind myself that I can count on time to keep on rolling, as little as I know why.

Yesterday I wore blue socks. I stepped on the scale, backwards, another ritual of the closed-doors world. She told me a number, for once. One pound. How many more, I wondered? She said we’ll take it one pound at a time. At the end of her emails, she always writes me, “Take care of you.”

I don’t know if I’ll regain what was lost, or if I’m building something new. But I stomp my foot just to feel the ground, hard and real, beneath me. And I swear I want to stay here, on this soggy-sunny half-dark rock, and to keep learning what that means.

I want to stay here.

Follow this journey on Sarah Aziza.

The Mighty is asking the following: For someone who doesn’t understand what it’s like to have your mental illness, describe what it’s like to be in your head for a day. If you’d like to participate, please send a blog post to [email protected] Please include a photo for the piece, a photo of yourself and 1-2 sentence bio. Check out our Submit a Story page for more about our submission guidelines.

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