If you’re reading this, know that seeking help is not a sign of weakness.
Ever since I was a little kid, I constantly worried about what other people thought of me. I avoided being the center of attention like the plague, and I especially hated the idea of people worrying about me. So when my mental health took a turn for the worst, the last thing I wanted to do was tell anyone about it.
In March, at the beginning of quarantine, the extra free time in my day meant I began to feel more and more isolated and alone with my thoughts. I started to blame all of my problems on my appearance. I was disgusted with my body and thought that losing weight would give me more confidence. I thought that more confidence would make me less anxious, would make me more conventionally attractive, would solve relationship problems, etc.
I started chasing the idea of looking in the mirror and feeling confident.
I became obsessed with the idea of being in a caloric deficit. I ran every single day despite bad weather and injury. I tracked every single calorie that went into my body to ensure that I would lose weight as fast as possible. I avoided social situations that involved eating out of fear that I would not be able to track the amount of calories in a restaurant meal. It wasn't long before I was dropping weight very quickly. The number on the scale was changing, but I was still chasing that feeling of satisfaction when looking in the mirror that never came.
I faced the daily battle of wanting to be “skinny” but also wanting to hide my disordered eating from everyone around me. I did not want my family or friends to find out about my habits, because the thought of them worrying or trying to help me was terrifying. What if they force me to get help? What if they start thinking of me differently?
When I came back to college this semester, I was scared about not being able to hide my habits from my roommates. I would starve myself until communal roommate dinners to ensure that I did not break my caloric deficit because I was unsure if I’d be able to properly measure the amount of calories in the meal that they cooked. I was constantly thinking about food and I eventually realized I couldn’t enjoy anything anymore.
After testing positive for COVID-19, I completely lost my sense of taste for a month. I began to spiral — eating became even more miserable than before and I decided it was the perfect time to cut even more calories and lose even more weight. Two months later, my friends from home came to visit and noticed how badly my mental health was deteriorating. They decided to tell my roommates about my habits which was extremely difficult for me. I did not want to get help, and I especially did not want any attention. I convinced myself that I was not “bad” enough to seek treatment.
My roommates were beyond helpful. They immediately began connecting me with resources here at UVA — from physicians, to therapists, to nutritionists. Meeting with specialists who told me that my heart, bones, and fertility were all starting to be compromised was a wake up call. I began listening to my friends’ advice. I was so relieved that I did not have to hide my problems anymore. They never force me to eat or make me feel like I am some patient who needs to be watched at all times. I am so lucky to have them in my life.
As I begin my road to recovery, I no longer feel as if I am a failure for seeking help from my friends and specialists. There is no such thing as “not being sick enough” to get help. If you’re reading this, know that you are loved and will never be a burden to your family and friends if you reach out. If you’re reading this, know that your self worth is not correlated to your body size. If you’re reading this, don’t be afraid to seek out resources here at UVA that could very much save your life. I’m so grateful that I did.
Bella S., University of Virginia ‘22
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