The mental illness of ED can push its victims to new extremes
Source: http://cupwire.caLONDON, ON (CUP) — It’s 5:30 a.m.; I can’t get back to sleep. My body aches all over, even though I take as much Tylenol as I am safely allowed (if not twice as much, most days) just to get by. I tiptoe down the stairs to my basement, trying not to wake my still-sleeping family, and start my two- to three-hour run on my treadmill. I know that I should stop, especially since I’ll be going for an hour (or longer) swim at the YMCA that evening, after I've completed my four-hour shift at work and my schoolwork. I have decided to treat myself and eat half a carton of strawberries for dinner. That is all that I will eat today besides water and the orange that my parents will monitor me eating after my morning shower. I will cry three times for various reasons, or no reason at all.
My parents’ eyes are full of worry every time I look into them, sometimes brimming with tears after our daily argument over what I eat.
This is what almost every single day of my life looked like three years ago. No, I wasn’t trying to fit into a special dress. I was anorexic. I devoted almost a year-and-a-half of my life to making the number on my bathroom scale go down. After a few months of this mission, the devotion was no longer my choice.
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What are some of the misconceptions of those who struggle with an eating disorder? What obstacles make it most difficult to seek treatment?
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