My name is Cera and I am a 16 year old anorexic who is trying hard to reach full
recovery. Since the first day that I was placed into a hospital, I have questioned what led
me into this position. As the experiences that I have gone through run about in my head, the
ideas that stick out most are the ones that revolve around my being a perfectionist and on
the never-ending desire to please my parents. At the age of 12, I had to watch my
parents fall to pieces over the grief of 2 consecutive deaths in the family, including both my mom's mother and grandmother. Wanting only to help my parents, I forced myself to grow up quickly
and care for the house and for my younger sister. My parents, who both held demanding
job positions, became more stressed with life because they were forced to take care of
funerals, wills, life insurance, and homes to sell. Life was hard in our family for a whole
year. All that I wanted to do was to take all of my parent's pain away, I wanted them to be
happy. No longer did I want them to be deprived of sleep and happiness. Whatever I
could do to help out, I would. I had to be the best child that I could be and so I had to
become an adult and take on all of the responsibilities that my parents no longer had time
for. Wanting only to seem perfect in my parents eyes, I began to look at myself in a
different light. Criticism was all that I gave myself and I started to feel very ignored over
the fact that my parents were always busy with trying to sell the huge home that once
belonged to my grandmother.
Perfect Child?
Throughout my life I have always been a star, always
performing and parading around to prove to people that I was "perfect", but because of
my parent's prior obligations I was no longer receiving the attention that I once was shown.
Fears that something was wrong with me began to race through my head because I wasn't
getting praise the way I used to. It was no longer a big deal if I received all A's, or won
first place. Judging myself on what was wrong with me I soon found what I thought was
the answer. I believed that I was fat and that because of it my parents were disgusted with
me and no longer wanted to show me affection. What I thought to be fat was actually just the natural changes of my body as I was now a teenager, but I had distorted my mind to think that my female figure was repulsive. So I began the downward spiral into
Anorexic Nervosa.
Diet or Die I was never fat. At the height of 5'6" I weighed 120 pounds. That number turned
from being just right for me to being my enemy. For the next 4 months I would battle that
number and my body type. I tried to diet for 2 months. The dieting was healthy but it didn't
help me lose weight. I began to cut fatty foods out of my diet, but I failed to cut the calories.
Then one day I was given some useful advice, "burn off more calories than you take in
and you will lose weight". The simplest way to do that was to not take in any calories.
The Strict Restriction
The first day of my freshmen year in high school was the first day that I actually starved myself. I didn't let one piece of
food even get near my mouth and for 2 months I tried to continue in that pattern. My caloric intake was down to a tiny 15 calories a day, as I would eat only sugar free gum, diet soda, and calcium pills. I started to
lose weight quickly. I lost nearly 20 pounds in one month and had gone from a size 6 to a size 1. I was so proud of myself for finally
reaching my weight goal, and all the people around me were always saying how skinny I was. Girls said they wished they could diet like me. Guys commented on how small me frame was. I was finally getting back all the attention that I once had.
Never Enough
I remember standing on my scale one day, like I did everyday, several times a day, and thinking, "wow, I weigh 100 pounds. Why do I still look so fat?" I stood looking at my profile in the mirror and just told myself that 100 pounds was still too heavy. I continued to starve my body and exercise excessively. I would run about 8 miles a day, do 1000 crunches, and lift weights. There were days when
I would fake sick just so that I could stay home alone and exercise. When I worked out, especially with crunches, no one could bother me. If I was interupted while I was exercising I would have to start all over again. I could be on my 999th sit up, but if I had to stop for any reason, I would have to start all over again from one. I never let myself quit. I thought I was winning. I was really losing control.
I'm Not Sick, Just Skinny
Through my whole ordeal, my parents turned a blind eye to it. They could not believe that their daughter who was so smart, could do something like starve herself. They didn't believe it when people pointed out the obvious truth that I was anorexic. My mother finally worked up courage to ask me to stand on the scale in front of her. I will never forget the tears that ran down her face as she saw that the scale read 82. She began screaming that I was going to die and she just held me tight. At that point I knew I had gone to far.
My mother called the doctor and asked what needed to be done. She was told that if I had a temperature of less than 95 that I would have to be hospitalized. My temperature was only 94.3 F. That day, October 2, 2000, I was rushed to the ER where I sat in the freezing cold room. I had never been so scared in my life. I didn't feel like I was dying. I just assumed that if anything was wrong with my body I would have been able to feel it. I remember sitting on the hospital table, looking in the mirror as the doctor took my blood. I saw my face turn white and I heard my mother start to cry, screaming out "She's white! She's dying! Stop taking her blood!" That was all that I heard because I then passed out due to the fact that my fragile body could not handle losing any blood at all.
The Recovery
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