What I Eat In A Day

Illustration by Jayda Korn.

TRIGGER WARNING: THE FOLLOWING ARTICLE CONTAINS DEPICTIONS OF AN EATING DISORDER WHICH MAY BE A TRIGGER FOR SOME READERS. THE AUTHOR WISHES TO ACKNOWLEDGE THAT THESE ARE PERSONAL EXPERIENCES AND RECOGNIZE THAT OTHER PEOPLE HAVE OTHER EXPERIENCES AND THAT NO TWO PEOPLE ARE THE SAME.

8:30 AM - Breakfast: Omelette with cheese, 1 piece of white toast, 1 packet of peanut butter, 1 glass of white milk, 2 pieces of bacon, 1 packet of oreos (2 oreos per packet)

I stopped eating at 15 years old. Not completely, but mostly. My pockets began getting fuller than my stomach and there seemed to be more thoughts about food than the amount of food I was eating. It underlied my newfound love of fitness; the countless hours of movement I pushed the body that never got any attention. Though, love is not the right word. I hated working out. I hated the pushups, the running, the situps, and challenges that never seemed to give any results. 30 days for abs, or 3 weeks for a flat stomach, 2 weeks for a small waist; none of it was real. When I wasn’t working out I was watching videos about food, watching people make it, seeing people review it, restaurant hauls and what I eat in a day’s. All just for me to be starving. My screentime had been wasted on reading menus for restaurants I would never visit, imagining eating something that I knew I would never forgive myself for even trying. I could barely sleep, partly because I was always so cold, the goosebumps trailed every inch of my skin and at night my breath would turn to shivers. But also partly because I could not stop thinking about food. I’d wake up panicked from nightmares about eating, scared that I may have actually let myself have a meal or that I lost control over my hunger and finally let it reign free. 

10:30 AM - 1st Snack: 1 large chocolate chip cookie, 1 small cup of applesauce, 1 large glass of orange juice

At first, the compliments fueled me to keep up this sham diet. My mother started asking me for tips on how I looked so fit. She didn’t know how much I was eating, or rather how much I wasn’t. I felt pride in having people look at me. But after a couple months, compliments were rare and all I got was worry. You could start to see it in my face. My cheek bones made me look like a corpse and I was scared my spine would pierce through my skin. People knew I was sick but no one would dare say anything to me. My parents wouldn’t let me eat alone anymore, but I had a quick hand and lots of hiding spots. I couldn’t go through a meal without crying, and I was worse when I was yelling. I was cruel and mean and I didn’t deserve the compassion I got from those around me. The bags under my eyes carried the weight of dissatisfaction and the spores on my skin gave me scales. This was something I was already too familiar with, and certainly not something I needed more of. Daily weigh-ins became a ritual for a relationship that was literally killing me. I became obsessed with the idea of being sick, obsessed with climbing the ladder to an early demise because it didn’t matter the number on the scale, or the image in the mirror. None of it was ever enough. Every landmark was just pushed back because, if I reached my goal, why did I still look like me? 

12:00 PM- Lunch: 2 pieces fried fish, 1 large portion of potatoes, 1 large portion of green string beans, 1 large glass of milk, 1 packet of shortbread cookies (2 cookies)

I was lucky it was summer because my brain lost the capacity to think of anything but food. Everyone knew I was sick. I started speaking to therapists and listening to a nutritionist. I got better at lying and forgot what it was like not to cry at the sight of a full plate. I wasn’t just unhappy about my body:eventually, this discontent reached every area of my being. I wasn’t smart enough, I didn’t have enough friends, I couldn’t land a guy to save my life, but somehow all of that would change if I was small enough. Because the less food I ate correlated with the more people who would like me, correlated with the more I’d like myself. In reality, I think my presence scared people more than allured them. No one wanted to speak to me, and when they did, they could barely hear my words. Not even my vocal cords felt enough strength to produce words loud enough for anyone to listen to. I lost enjoyment in everything in my life. My brain had no energy to be productive, it begged for the times of stillness because it had nothing left to give. My heart hurt, I could feel stings in my chest that never seemed to go away, every breath shot tension in my chest. Certainly uncommon for a 15-year-old. Every step forward was followed by three steps back, and looking back I can only recognize this point as letting everyone around me watch me die. I knew it, too, yet I never registered the urgency. For some reason, I found death to be a sought-after alternative to the suffering I was currently in. I thought that maybe letting my body kill itself was better than the constant worry I had over my own actions. 

2:30 PM - 2nd Snack: 2 cups of apple sauce, 1 banana, 1 large bag of chips

Eventually no one could watch me do this anymore, not even myself. I began in person treatment and realized that what I was doing was not normal. I remember thinking it was easier to get better when I was isolated from everything else in my life, when all I had to do is eat when told to and lie in bed all day, that the effort would come much later once I actually have to do things for myself again. I hated that idea though, of having to do things for myself again. I remember I kept telling myself, “if all goes wrong, at least it wouldn’t be my fault, at least I wouldn't be the one putting all this food into my body”. If I got too big for comfort there was plausible deniability in the fact that this was all forced. Then eventually once I did go back to making my own choices I couldn’t shake the fact that I didn’t want to be ‘better.’ Eating disorders have one of the highest relapse rates of any psychiatric disorder, I was no exception to that fact. I thought if I didn’t have this, there would be no reason for anyone to pay attention to me at all. That’s simply not true, but for a 16-year-old with insanely high insecurity problems, this was no short of fact. 

5:00 PM - Dinner: 1 large serving of spaghetti, 5 meatballs, 1 banana, 1 packet of shortbread cookies (2 per packet)

I want to close this chapter of my life, it’s been years past since I’ve been at my worst. I no longer believe I struggle with this disorder. I no longer count the calories I’ve had, I no longer think about how to get rid of them. I’m grateful for the help I got because I don’t think I could have gotten past myself without it. Being sick wasn’t my identity, it never was. I won’t act like I don’t still have my own fair share of insecurity, there’s something so deeply human in self consciousness, but it’s not something to let rule my life. It’s a lot easier to get over things when you talk to someone I found out. Life shouldn’t end when you’re fifteen and life shouldn’t end because you’re too caught up in your own head. Don’t let it. 

National Eating Disorder Information Centre (NEDIC)

1-866-663-4220 or 416-340-4156 in Toronto