I didnt expect anyone to understand.
ED was my friend, my source of productivity, my distraction from indulgence.
And I said to my body, softly, I want to be your friend.
Etienne Boulanger
It took a long breath.
And replied, I have been waiting my whole life for this.
As a child, I had always been under my parents watchful eye and care.
Etienne Boulanger
College was a different story.
I quickly became a party girl, surrounded by bottles of flavored Smirnoff and shots of UV Blue.
To this day, I cant even look at a blue drink without gagging.
I fell into a relationship, a bad one.
He became unimpressed by my party girl ways, and swiftly broke it off.
My pants began to feel tighter, though I couldnt understand why.
It never occurred to me how late night McDonalds and binge drinking could possibly spur the Freshman 15.
But God forbid I stop at 15.
One morning I woke up in the hospital.
I blacked out the night before and couldnt remember what got me there.
Mortified doesnt even begin to describe my world on that morning.
I had become so disgusted with myself, and my body, that I vowed to make a change.
The Internet was full of tips.
I was engrossed in them.
The Internet was just begging to help me.
I quickly became addicted to counting calories.
It was a numbers game.
The logic was simple: calories equal bad.
I logged every single calorie, down to the last pretzel, never going over my allotted 1,200.
As punishment, I would cut 200 calories from dinner.
I wasnt one of those girls who would eat 200 calories each day and then throw it all up.
I didnt even throw up.
I prided myself on all of this.
I would portion out just enough for each meal, making sure not to keep leftovers.
The time in between was spent on the elliptical.
I was a madman, dropping everything and canceling plans just so I had enough time at the gym.
I would burn 300 calories each session.
As my sickness progressed, Id go twice a day.
I dont know how I spared the energy.
The summer ended, and I moved into an apartment with four of my college girlfriends.
I didnt want to hang out with any of them.
Their probing eyes, judging looks.
The thought of eating in front of them terrified me.
Actually, the thought of eating in front ofanyonemade me anxious.
So I spent the majority of my time locked away in my room.
My eating disorder had become my best friend.
Though I really hated her sometimes.
I became a straight A student in the semesters to follow.
By October, I could sense a dramatic change in my body.
My clothes were loose, but not yet baggy.
I stopped getting my period.
And still I continued on, smothered in my own self-righteousness.
I didnt expect anyone to understand.
ED was my friend, my source of productivity, my distraction from indulgence.
Though we didnt always see eye-to-eye, I was happy.
At least I thought so, at the time.
But the weight continued to melt away as my calorie restrictions became more and more obsessive.
I became power hungry.
She calmed me down like no friend Ive ever had before.
She gave me this false sense of purpose, like I was living for something.
In reality, I was living with something.
But I soldiered on.
When I came home for winter break, my dad was thoroughly unimpressed.
Fed up with my restrictive eating, she insisted on Arbys.
I was less than thrilled, but I swallowed my pride and scanned the menu for something low cal.
But in those days, indulgent made me sick.
Quickly the heaves turned to sobs as I huddled over myself on the floor.
In the bathroom of an Arbys.
I had reached an all-time low.
But ED was persistent.
Just one more pound and it’s possible for you to stop, she would say.
At night I would lie in bed listening to the gurgling of my tummy.
It had become a sort of lullaby, as it produced noise and calmed me simultaneously.
I lusted after my own bones.
With each passing day I was closer and closer to becoming a human skeleton.
I bought a scale.
I must have weighed myself a couple times a day.
By February 2012, I had reached an ultimate low: 104 pounds.
My clothes were no longer just loose.
My 00 jeans sagged in the butt and my old body-con dress was laughably sack-like.
I hadnt gotten my period in five months.
I could no longer deny that I was indeed, anorexic.
I was one of the models this year (though not a signed model at this point.)
Did you lose weight?!
I made a face as if to suggest she was crazy.
I believe I laughed in her face.
But my mom urged me forward, saying, Whats the harm in trying?
So I dragged my flat ass to that agency, and so began my modeling career.
