Chrissy L.
Photography by Alexandra Pentel
Before reading this letter, we'd like for you to know it discusses Chrissy L’s experience with an eating disorder. If you think that reading about this will be triggering for you, we encourage you to take a pause before reading this letter, center yourself, and prepare any resources you may need to access after reading it. If you'd rather not read this letter, we encourage you to read a letter on a different topic, such as Dana Q’s letter. If you're reading this, your feelings are valid.
If you’re reading this, you have to keep fighting. Nothing will ever be stronger than the warrior inside of you.
One thing people typically fail to realize about eating disorders are their identities as mental illnesses. In middle school, when I first learned about eating disorders, I never truly grasped this psychological factor because I always thought people who suffered from eating disorders were doing it on purpose. “You’ll get over it,” I thought. “Just eat more; it’s easy.” But really, eating disorders are just as dangerously powerful as dealing with any other mental illness; sometimes, you just have no control. And that’s when it gets scary.
In June 2018, I (quite unfortunately, and on accident), ate maggots. I had ordered some cheese-fries from a food truck in Washington, DC., and upon finishing those delicious fries, I looked down on my plate to find maggots squirming around in the leftover cheese. As you can imagine, I freaked out. And when I say freaked out, I dry-heaved, called my mom, and researched how much longer I had to live. Never did I think, well over a year later, this day would become the day that completely changed my life, and my relationship, or lack thereof, with food.
Although this incident was deeply buried away in my memory, I began to notice changes in my weight and body. Pre-maggot, I never had any negative body perceptions, and quite frankly, I loved my body. So when I lost 12 pounds in that first month, I was sort of confused; I figured that since I was working out and eating healthier, my results were just finally coming in. And, I mean, I felt completely fine. So, I didn’t think too much of it.
The next month, I dropped another 8 pounds. The next, 5 pounds. And the one after that, 6 pounds. And then, another 5 pounds. Friends, family, and those closest to me started commenting on my weight, and I can’t say that those comments were particularly kind: “I can see your ribs; that’s scary looking.” “Why are you starving yourself? You look disgusting.” And my personal favorite, “I wish I had Celiac’s too, so I could lose a lot of weight like you!” Hearing these comments so frequently made me feel like this was my fault, that I had done this on purpose to lose weight. But the truth of the matter was that I hated the way my body looked now. My ribs showed too much, if I turned sideways, everything was flat, and my hip bones were so prominent that I looked like a walking skeleton. I stopped looking in the mirror after that.
I came to realize this extreme weight loss was a product of my eating habits. I used to eat everything placed in front of me, and would even eat off of others’ plates too. But during this time, I meticulously inspected all of my food, and my body would shut down if there was food that triggered me, because of its taste, smell, look, color, texture, or presentation. It didn’t really hit me as an issue until one day at dinner when I choked on my food, looked up, and saw a look of sheer sadness and disappointment in my ex-boyfriend’s eyes; he knew I was struggling, and he wanted to help so, so badly, but he just didn’t know how to, and to be honest, neither did I.
My health began deteriorating pretty significantly after that. Waking up and fainting right after became my norm. My heart was overworked, and simply walking up 5 stairs would have me gasping for air. I was horrified -- I didn’t know how to overcome this intense fear of food. But I knew I needed help, and finally I put my pride aside and went to Student Health.
After my intake, my doctor essentially looked at me and said, “I’m really not even sure how you’ve been able to stay alive in this way.” And that hit me like a thousand daggers. My body is fighting so damn hard to keep going, and I’m consciously neglecting to nurture it? Why couldn’t I get over this fear of food? The answer to this was that, at this point, I was completely out of control.
Eventually, I was diagnosed with ARFID, or Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder. It’s usually described as “the picky eater,” but the restriction of food is not a result of poor body image. So while I restrict my body from certain foods, my doing so is not because I want to be skinny, but because I have such a deeply-rooted fear of ever putting something in my body that I think will harm it (hence, the maggots). Because I had lost so much weight in such a short period of time, my heart was negatively impacted, which means I can no longer workout or raise my heart rate too high. Hearing all of these things on that day was, to say the very least, devastating. I remember sitting in my car afterwards, bawling my eyes out, punching the steering wheel, and screaming at the top of my lungs. Nobody could hear me, and it was the only time I really, really hated myself.
Over the next eight months, I knew my fight with ARFID couldn’t be fought by myself. And if you know me, you know I hate going to the doctor. But, I knew how serious this situation was becoming, so I made a promise to myself to never skip my appointments. While I’ve been in treatment with my doctor at Student Health since February, I recently joined Prosperity, a center for those struggling with eating disorders. There, I see a nutritionist and therapist weekly to help me overcome my fears and bad habits, and to say that I have already seen positive changes would be an understatement. I am happier, I am healthier, and I am fighting so, so hard. Writing this letter reminds me of the person I was in February, the worst version of myself. And if I could talk to her, or to anyone who is struggling, I would tell them to keep on fighting; the greatest battles are saved for the strongest soldiers.
It’s important to have a healthy relationship with food because you never know what your body truly needs, and letting it get anywhere close to the place that I brought mine to isn’t something I would wish on my greatest enemy. My body didn’t give up on me because it knew I wasn’t done fighting. So, if you’re reading this, you can’t give up on your fight either. Seek help, push through the pain, and never, ever, quit fighting. No matter what you’re going through, nothing will ever be stronger than the warrior inside of you.
Chrissy L., University of Virginia
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