Almost exactly one year ago, my therapist called in my husband and told him I am anorexic and I needed help. I can remember how good that made me feel. It was an accomplishment. However, I also remember looking in the mirror and seeing a skeleton and changing a bunch of times so no one would notice how thin I was getting. I remember my husband telling me I was getting too thin and I looked like a boy. I liked the attention. I was messed up.
Today, a year later, I no longer count calories, weigh myself, or care much about my weight to a degree. I am over the anorexia. I am healthy. I eat what I want, when I want. I am a size 3. Still thin, but I still think I'm fat at times, but I have no intentions to go back to the unhealthy lifestlyle.