I remember feeling anxious driving to university with my parents, with all my things packed in the car. The move-in went smoothly, I had a private room in a beautiful new residence, and I shared a bathroom with a friend from high school. My parents helped me set my things up, and left. I remember having a meeting for our floor, and feeling nervous about my new environment. I was excited to participate in Orientation Week activities, which were focused on drinking and partying. You’d think all this drinking would cause me to gain weight, but I focused on drinking low calorie alcoholic drinks and reducing my food intake to compensate.
The next few weeks were a blur. I attended classes, but I was extremely scared and nervous all the time. The only time I would relax was when I drank and partied on weekends. I didn’t attend any of my floor events (partially because many of them revolved around food), and I had so much work to do from all of my classes and was scared of getting behind. To make things worse, I had pre-acceptance to the Ivey business program, and in order to maintain it I needed to get an average above 80%, and be involved in three activities/clubs. I was alone a lot of the time, and frankly going a bit crazy.
I would scroll through social media and believe that all of my friends were having so much more fun than I was at different universities. I still missed the boy I had a summer fling with. The friend I knew from high school was busy playing varsity field hockey most of the time. Internally, I was crumbling. I didn’t feel like myself, and felt extremely anxious and nervous every single day. I began questioning my program in food and nutrition, and worried about the prospects of becoming a registered dietitian. It was apparently very competitive, and I didn’t think I’d get in. I couldn’t see what my future was going to be and obsessively worried about it.
My food intake was variable and restricted. I tried to exercise as much as I could while doing my work, and ate little. I usually made my own breakfast, and worried about portioning my oatmeal because I didn’t want to eat too much. The cafeteria in my residence was very healthy (inspired by the popular nutrition program) but I had created rules for what I could and couldn’t eat. I didn’t touch the baked goods section, and I worried about the oil that the food was cooked in. I mostly ate salads from the salad bar, minimizing my intake of carbohydrates and trying to pick the dressing with the lowest number of calories. Balsamic vinegar was the lowest calorie option. I didn’t fill my plate too much because it was priced by weight, and I didn’t want it to be too expensive. I was also really worried about the price of everything, as it was all expensive and I didn’t want to run out of money on my meal plan. My parents didn’t care about this, and told me to not worry about it, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. To top all of this off, I hated eating with others. Many people make friends and bond by going to meals with other people, but I rarely did. When I did eat with others, they were probably shocked by how little I had. I had a lot of snacks in my room, but felt like I couldn’t touch them. Skinny Pop had oil on it and my brain decided that that was bad.
My partying was wild. I desperately wanted to meet boys and make friends, and believed partying was a way to achieve that. Numerous times I went out with some girls from my all-girls residence, but would lose them when I was at concerts. One time when I was walking back to my residence alone, a boy came up to me and asked me to go back to his residence with him. I was in shock, we weren’t even allowed to have guests from other residences over, but he said he could sneak me in. I turned him down and was disgusted by the request. Another night I went to a different residence to party, and ended up staying over in a random guy’s room (we didn’t do anything) because it was raining and we didn’t want to walk back to our residence. A different night I remember drinking before going to a concert on campus. I started feeling sick, and puked in the University Student Centre. I hadn’t eaten enough and that’s how I got sick. Another guy who seemed nice and friendly invited me to a party at his residence. I arrived at his residence, eager to meet new people, but didn’t see a party anywhere on his floor. I was confused, and he took me to his room to chat on his bed for a bit. He randomly kissed me, which I wasn’t crazy about, but felt like I couldn’t say no. I felt uncomfortable and wanted to leave after that, as I sensed there was no residence party. Before I left he said, “can you at least suck my dick, so I have something to tell my friends?” Thankfully, I had the sense and courage to say no and storm out. I walked back to my room alone, and cried. My final failed partying attempt occurred when I went to a frat house for a party with some friends. As per usual, I lost the girls I was with, and ended up walking home alone.
As the weeks went on, I was miserable. I continued to be anxious all the time, it was definitely pathological. I had tried to make friends, but didn’t feel connected to anyone. I honestly can’t blame the people I was with for thinking I was odd and keeping me on the outside of the group. Part of it was petty, as one girl mentioned, “you didn’t hang out with us at the beginning of Orientation Week, so you aren’t really part of the group”. Part of it was valid, as I acted strange and unlike myself most of the time. One time we went out for dinner at Jack Astor’s. I had already eaten dinner, and couldn’t risk the calories from anything else, so I ordered a side of veggies. I cringe when I think about this, because it’s just proof of how sick I was. My illness was consuming me.
After 5 weeks of not communicating with my family (I needed to be strong and independent), my mom and sister visited so we could go apple picking. It was nice to see them, and we went out for lunch after. We went to William’s, a café with good food. I stared at the menu for a long time trying to figure out what the lowest calorie item was. My mom noticed my hesitation and encouraged me to just order. I eventually ordered a salad with dressing on the side. Before my mom and sister left, my mom hugged me, and through my sweater I think she could tell how small and frail I had become.
I began to notice something was really off with me, but wasn’t sure what was going on. I loved my weight loss, and was extremely proud of myself. For the first time I looked in the mirror and didn’t completely hate what I saw. However, I was terrified of gaining back the weight I had lost, and had no idea how to eat normally to maintain my lower weight. I reached out to a dietitian provided through the university. You’d think this would have been helpful, but unfortunately it wasn’t. She gave me a low calorie plan to maintain my low weight, and reinforced that I could “eat as many vegetables as I wanted”. She didn’t know what I was like before, she only knew that my weight and BMI were technically “normal” even though they were definitely not normal for my body.
As the weeks went on, my mood dipped even lower. I found it difficult to focus on my school work, and be engaged in my activities. I tried joining the orchestra but struggled with playing my violin. I felt incredibly lonely and isolated. I started to view school as a prison.
The only thing I remember from going home for Thanksgiving that year was that I cried a lot. I wasn’t enjoying myself at school, I was constantly anxious, didn’t have friends, and just felt very sad. My family encouraged me to try to look on the brighter side of things, but I believe even they could tell something bad was happening to me. They just couldn’t comprehend what was going on.
I returned to school, and decided it would be a good idea to see a therapist. I could tell my brain wasn’t functioning properly, and after doing some googling, believed that I might have an eating disorder. I was terrified, but one of my friends in high school developed an eating disorder, and was able to get better. I didn’t know too many details of her story, but knew that she worked with a psychologist, and was able to improve. I thought I may be able to do the same thing. I knew that the university offered counselling services, so I went to the wellness building in hopes of getting some help. I briefly spoke with a woman that said there was a long waitlist for services. I’d be placed on it, but there was also some funding in the wellness budget to see a therapist in the community. I was in no state of mind to be searching for and finding a therapist in the community, so I’m fortunate that my mom did that step for me.
I remember riding the bus to downtown London, quite a ways away from the university. I was lost and scared, and my phone died just after I got off the bus. I eventually found the office and sat in the waiting room, unsure of what to expect. I don’t remember many details of that appointment, but I know that I cried most of the time, and just unleashed my whole story to the psychologist. I saw her two times, looking for guidance and next steps. At this point, I was seriously considering leaving school. I didn’t like my program, hated where I was, and didn’t know what was happening to me. Psychologists don’t really give advice or tell you what to do, but I distinctly remember her saying that I probably could last the semester, but “at what cost?”. She gave me preliminary diagnoses of an eating disorder, anxiety, and depression. Hearing her say that was tough, but I think it ultimately made me feel better. I knew something was wrong, and was happy there were names for it rather than me just being absolutely nuts.
As weeks went on I stressed about midterms, assignments, everything. My mood dipped lower and lower, and I went home every weekend. I wanted to withdraw, but my parents were hesitant at first. Stress caused me to start seeing an aura in my vision. I called my mom in the middle of an evening class because I was having an anxiety attack. I remember seeing stars at the end of one of my runs. I was malnourished, but terrified of food.
One night I thought my heart was going to stop, because the beat was very weak. But I loved the feeling of my bony legs.
I had moments of clarity. I remember coming home one weekend, looking in my bathroom mirror, and being horrified by what I saw, how gauntly, thin, and sick I looked. I remember eating a shawarma (that I didn’t really want to eat), and then feeling guilty. My mind was still very sick.
Severe depression settled in, and I lost all motivation to do anything. Everything felt pointless, I hated school, hated my program, and was exhausted from being stressed. I continued to lose weight. The time to withdraw without academic penalty was coming up soon, and I knew that I wanted to leave. My parents were unsure about this at first, but after seeing me deteriorate further mentally and physically, they decided that withdrawing me was the best course of action.
I remember being happy packing my room up the night before I left. I was really excited to leave prison and go back home. I talked to another girl in my residence, and will never forget her say “you’re not yourself when you’re hungry”. That phrase really stuck with me. I was fortunate my dad was able to come and get me and all my things. Just before leaving I knew I wanted to use up my meal plan money, so I bought some candy for my sister and family.
A Mind Warrior 