My Own Worst Enemy
by Rosanne Adamo

253 words (2 minutes)

     I kept telling myself that losing just one more pound would make me happy. Well, one more turned into five more and five more turned into ten more and before I knew it, I was staring out of the window of a mental institution. I became very familiar with that window over the course of my 3-week stay. It was my only connection to the world outside that I had once lived in. Sure I was upset that I was locked up but I didn’t that that what I was doing was wrong. I was only seven pounds away from my goal. Seven more pounds and I would be the 92-pound girl I wanted to be. I knew I could do it.

So I told all the shrinks what they wanted to hear and ate the food with a smile on my face. The day I returned home I ran to the scale and realized it was now ten pounds I had to lose to be perfect. Of course, my parents weren’t smart enough to see the gradual weight loss. They didn’t notice until four months later when my 90-pound body collapsed in the hallway. That’s when I knew I was going to have to battle this self-image issue everyday of my life. They say I’m better. I’m at a very healthy weight now and after three and a half years of fighting this, I’m a recovered anorexic. So, why does it still hurt so badly to look in the mirror?

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