WellBeing Week is coming to an end, but the community is still here

How the Wake Forest community helped me overcome an eating disorder

“Oh man, do you know how many calories are in these?” He asks laughingly, as another handful of the chips disappear into his mouth.

“Two-hundred and ten.”

The words slide past your lips with the same ease as if he’d just asked you the solution to the equation of two plus two.

You glance up, your pencil paused amongst a smattering of words pertaining to some biological system to see curiosity brimming unabashedly in his dark brown eyes. You recall the sequence of digits that’d just rolled off your tongue and you freeze, dread circling your stomach in a whirlwind of apprehension as you anticipate the question that inevitably follows:

“How’d you know that?”

The answer that should, but doesn’t accompany the shrug of your shoulders, is that you’ve memorized it — just like calorific quantity of thousands of other snacks and bars and dishes whose magic number you’ve etched into the memory bank of your mind. A cup of Honey Nut Cheerios has one-hundred and ten calories, while exactly twenty-nine Reduced Fat Cheez-Its has one-hundred and thirty. A medium order of Chick-fil-A fries will add four-hundred calories to your intake while the mouth-watering burrito bowl you’ve coached yourself not to crave from Chipotle will cost you a horrifying six-hundred and ninety.

How’d you know that? Well see, you can’t answer that.

Beautiful strong girls at Wake Forest

Because then he’d would know that you’ve trained yourself to recall the sum of fats and carbs and sugars and salts that make up the pounds that will be added to your already disgustingly plump body if you elect to bring that fork up to your mouth.

Because then he’d know about the pills and potions you’ve dumped into your system to coerce a stoppage of the signals sent from your empty stomach to your ignorant mind in a prayer for nourishment.

Because then he’d know about the nights you’ve spent on the bathroom floor, attempting to overcome your crippling fear of vomiting just so you can rid yourself of the two-hundred extra calories you shoved down your throat in a moment of weakness that resulted from the aroma of freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies.

Because then he’d know about the fishing weights you’d concealed in every pocket of material of the loose-fitting clothing you’d donned in a desperate effort to augment the numbers upon the scale in the office of the doctor assigned to inform you that if you could not finish at least half of what was on your plate, you would not be able to escape the identifying band around your wrist, shackling you to an institution that was committed to putting food in your mouth, one way or another.

Because then he’d would know about the tears your father could not contain as he confessed he was terrified to allow you to return to school in the spring, for he didn’t know if he could bring himself to come collect the pile of bones you’d inevitably become in the summer if you continued to deny yourself of food.

Because then he’d know about the rivulets of red you’ve had to scramble to clean from the floor, with the biting sting of fresh razor-blade incisions singing across the flesh of your thighs, from when you were too cowardly to skate the edge across your wrist to end your time imprisoned within this hell of your own making.

Because then he would know that you, dear girl, are anorexic.

You are afraid of the woman that wears your face, who stands before you in the mirror with tracks of makeup traversing down her pale cheeks as she grabs at the folds of skin that surround her growling stomach.

You are sick of fighting the war that begins with the rise of the sun each day and does not end when you lay your head upon the pillow seeking rest. The battle is endless and the enemy is everywhere: it is in the frightening rate at which your clothes continue to tighten, it is the willowy girls with thin arms and long legs that complain they’re “getting too fat” as they nibble timidly on the single stalk of celery upon their barely filled plates, it is in the demon which sits next you at the table and whispers promises of treasure in the form of perfection — if and only if you surrender the weapon of the fork which itches to pick up another bite of lettuce nestled beneath vegetables and low-fat dressing.

You exist in a constant state of paralysis, worried that one day your telephone will ring with the weary voices of your parents, telling you they reversed their decision — the one you fought tooth-and-nail for – to allow you to leave their watchful gaze. You just narrowly escaped hospitalization, a devil which waits within the shadows of your mind for you to give back into the disease.

But I am here to tell you that you are not alone.

Seven courageous ladies gathered hesitantly just past the doors of the University Counseling Center as the sun faded behind the clouds on a frigid February afternoon.  Apprehension read on their faces until the first mouth broke into a smile and said “Hi, I’m Kate, and I’m in recovery.”

Throughout the course of six weeks, the band of survivors laughed ironically at the absurdity of the standards our culture charges the men and women to meet if they want the coveted title of “beautiful.” Lips wobbled and cheeks were stained with salt and teardrops as stories of struggle were brought from behind the veneer of normalcy and alrightness.  Tales of triumph and misery were met with excitement, or sympathy and sensitivity. For the first time in a while, the girls felt as though they were at peace.

Though my religious confidence has dwindled over the years, as I sit here with my hands upon the keys, I cannot help but recall a simple verse that goes something like “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for you are with me.”

Our week of WellBeing is coming to an end, but the support will still linger throughout the community.

You may believe that you trudge through this disorder alone, but the truth is we, your brothers and sisters of Wake Forest, walk with you. The hands of your friends and your families, your professors and your coaches, Rosalyn at Starbucks and Dr. Clinch at Student Health will be outstretched to right you when you stumble.

Your hall mates, sorority sisters, and Princess the cleaning lady will wipe the tears from your face and encourage you to forge on. I cannot say that your journey will be smooth and painless, but I can say that it will be completed unitedly, because we the Deacons look out for one another.

Speak up, get help, fight on.

This is part one of a two-part series from The Tab Wake Forest about eating disorders at Wake Forest, in honor of WellBeing Week. The second part, another student’s narrative, will appear tomorrow. 

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