Dear Ana 

To my dear friend Ana and to the friends who struggle because of her,

It is national eating disorder awareness week and I feel an obligation to at least blog to my few subscribers of my own journey and the countless others I’ve witnessed.

Ana starting talking to me my sophomore year of high school. Things weren’t going well with a boyfriend and I felt out of control. I made poor decisions that I regretted for the rest of high school (and in general life). I have major OCD which initially caused me to be a perfectionist within my school work and a constant need to control relationships and friendships.

When all of these things spiraled out of my control, there was a final resort: my weight. It felt like the most magnificent way to solve my problems. Once I hit my breakup, I had one thing left for myself: my appearance. I’m a short petite person. 115- 120 pounds is more than enough for me. But these high 120’s began to feel like 200’s. I wanted less 0’s. Around that time, I remember a friend took a picture of me jokingly as I changed somewhere in the high school. I remember her showing me my rib cage. It was the first time I noticed that I didn’t look as great as I thought I did.

But I kept going anyways. I picked the tightest dress I could for a dance. At this point, I was 100 pounds. I maintained that weight as long as I could in the worst ways possible. I didn’t eat. I recreationally took things I definitely shouldn’t have. My personality spiraled down the drain.

Boys noticed me. Girl friends asked me why I wasn’t eating at lunch, if everything was okay, are you hungry, etc. Friends would offer their sandwiches and I’d reply that I wasn’t hungry.

I did this for a long time my sophomore year without much notice from anyone. Eventually, I stopped. As I always do. In stages, Ana comes in and out of my life telling me to lose those 10 pounds so I can look acceptable again.

What’s funny is, I’ve never been told that I wasn’t enough. My parents told me more than enough times. My dad hounded on me to eat every meal. My mom tells me how skinny I look. I’m not sure where the insecurity comes from. I’m not sure it is even an insecurity.

All I know is that in a mirror, it’s the first thing I notice every day. If I’m one pound heavier, I feel worse than the day before. Things need to remain the same. I need that sense of stability. I think what I enjoy(ed) was the reaction of it all.

I craved the attention of looking like someone I wasn’t. With that, I became someone I wasn’t too.

Ana is a lifelong shadow for anyone who has experienced an eating disorder or insecurity. She has the power to mentally destroy you. But I plea with you not to let her.

I’m struggling daily to remind myself that I can be beautiful at 112 pounds. But I keep telling myself anyway. Find a reason to keep Ana locked in the shadows and not reflecting through your mirror.

Beautiful is beautiful. Beautiful is not skinny. Ana is not beautiful. You are the only one who determines your worth.

Stop believing society’s definition of beautiful. Stop commenting on skinny girls instagrams telling them “I want your body.” Chances are, she’s craving that comment so she has the motivation to lose more. Stop looking in the mirror and changing clothes in hopes of looking skinnier. You already look skinny. Eat a burger. Eat whatever. Just eat. Remember that a size doesn’t define you.

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back…again?

Since I haven’t blogged in months and my life has turned back into an uneventful, summer bliss I figured it was time to get back into the writing game.

Unlike sophomore year summer Emilee, junior year summer Emilee has a minimum amount of complaints about her life.

Life is good. Really good. Annoyingly good. Good enough to make me unable to write the things I used to, and process emotions the way I used to. I hate to say it, but I’ve become one of those people; a person who is annoyingly talking about the joys in her life.

My parents are great… in fact, greater than ever. We get along? I don’t know how that happened within the span of a year, but I’d like to think that my anxiety meds had a GREAT deal to do with it. Thank you Prozac, you’re the shit. Since we’re on the topic of prozac, my dog used to take it too. He died, but I’d like to think the pill made both of our lives much better. RIP Baxter, I miss you. You were also “the shit.”

My friends… now that’s a subject that seems to never drastically change throughout the years. A lot of work as usual, but luckily I have a boyfriend that gives me the power to avoid most of them 99.9 % of the time. If I could redo anything starting from the beginning of my freshman year, I would choose befriending on close manners MORE than 5 females.

The thing that’s wrong with befriending ONLY 5 females is, they also only befriend 5 females. Therefore, you have the same friends. All the time. No breaks. With more and more and more shit piling between you over the many years. And what’s even worse than your 5 female friends, is your multiple male friends. The chubby, weird, AWESOME guys I befriended back in seventh grade have now learned to think with more than their brains. Instead, they now uses their penises.

Okay, okay, but now I’ll skip back to the positives. I mentioned earlier I have a boyfriend.  I love my boyfriend. He’s better than prozac, he’s like my savior. He rubs my head and gives me back massages when I’m tense. He deals with my anxiousness and awkwardness on a daily basis and still treats me like I’m the best thing ever (I’m so not). But what am I then? LUCKY. I’m lucky that I learned what I didn’t want and finally found what I did. Someone who’s kind, adorable, attentive, and most of all imperfect. Perfect is a word meant for the oblivious and ignorant. No one will ever be perfect. But damn, he’s pretty close. But what I have learned about love is, the imperfections become your favorite parts. You love someone for all the things you actually do LOVE about them, but you also learn to love the things you hate too.  I wouldn’t change a single thing. I mean I wouldn’t change a thing other  than the fact that he’s a year older and leaving me for college next year. That’s going to be a large, large, large, large, did i mention large? BUMMER!

Lastly (for today), I think that I’ve grown up. I learned my priorities and kinda, sorta what I want from the world and people around me. No, I’m not necessarily getting it. But I do plan to, someday. My life is full of somedays. But I like somedays because they give me something to look forward to. I can’t help but hope for that big journalism career, or going to the schools that are unattainable for me. I can’t help but dream of my perfect life with my three adorable boys and beautiful, kind husband. Someday sounds pretty good to me, of course if I make it there.