How I survived a serial killer

Escaping my Eating Disorder: My Battle Against an Invisible Killer 

By Anonymous

(Hongmei Zhao / Unsplash)

Warning: Content discussed addresses eating disorders

I was thirteen years old when a relentless stalker began to shadow my every move. His name was Ed, and he haunted me throughout my teenage years. Ed wasn't a person; he was my 'Eating Disorder,' a silent killer claiming over 10,200 lives each year and a leading cause of mental illness-related deaths. The day my pediatrician uttered the diagnosis 'anorexia,' I fainted in her office. I felt like a failure, ashamed that I had let Ed infiltrate my life and warp my adolescence. I didn’t want to be a burden to my parents and felt too embarrassed to look them in the eye. As I became powerless against Ed’s control, my life spiraled into his grip. 

It began with small things: portion restrictions and obsessive body checking. But soon, Ed started to demand more from me. I started to skip meals, surviving on a maximum of 700 calories a day. There were multiple days at a time I went without eating breakfast and lunch. The battle against Ed was a relentless push and pull that spanned years. Opening up to my parents about my eating disorder was akin to filing a police report against my stalker. Their initial struggle to understand was difficult, but their unwavering support has been my anchor. I know many aren’t as fortunate to have such a support system. Depression and anxiety had been my companions for a while, and I am still on a journey to understand if there was a specific catalyst for my anorexia. Sometimes, life’s arduous obstacles don’t come with clear reasons, but our responses to these challenges shape our outcomes. I had to make the conscious decision to communicate openly with my loved ones about the devastation Ed had caused in my life. 

There were moments of profound isolation when I felt disconnected from everyone around me. Social gatherings became a source of anxiety, as Ed’s voice grew louder in crowds. I withdrew from friends, unable to explain the war waging within me. The loneliness was suffocating, but it also became a catalyst for seeking help, realizing that I couldn’t fight Ed alone. At one point, my parents and I discussed the possibility of a psychiatric institution if I continued on my destructive path. (Fortunately, I recovered enough for that to be off the table). The appointment fatigue I experienced was overwhelming, visiting three therapists, two pediatricians, a psychiatrist, and a dietitian regularly. I learned that balancing my recovery time with school commitments was exhausting. My grades suffered, and I couldn’t perform on the soccer field or travel outside the country. It made me angry, all of these things that Ed had forcibly taken from me. I used part of that anger as motivation to divorce Ed, and turn him into the authorities for good. 

Recovery required redefining my relationship with food and my body. It wasn't just about eating more; it was about reprogramming my mind to see food as nourishment rather than the enemy. I learned to appreciate the strength and resilience of my body, celebrating small victories like enjoying a meal with family without Ed's interference. Each step forward, no matter how small, was a triumph over Ed's control. My dietitian once told me that restricting food intake to the minimum is akin to living life at its lowest level—barely surviving rather than thriving. Ed’s whispers to be content with the minimum were lies. There is so much more to life than weight, body image, or calorie intake. The journey to my recovery is ongoing, and I am still far from the finish line. But in silencing Ed, I have begun to reclaim my life. Arresting my serial killer has led me on a path to rediscovering joy, fulfillment, and a future beyond Ed's lurking shadow.