This piece by Mercy Survivor Britt shares about her starvation and suicide journey from post-Mercy Ministries low point and beyond. This piece was originally published on her personal blog and can be viewed at Nineteen Blue Dots.
I’m pretty sure most people who have seen pictures of me or knew me six years ago would have a few ideas of what I did to my body during those times.
The reason I’m writing about it today is basically because over the last week it’s really hit me that I think I’ve moved on. Well, I hope I’ve moved on.
Brief run down…when I left Mercy I was extremely suicidal. I was stressed and under a lot of pressure to do well. I started to lose weight. I left the program at 72ish kg and dropped down to 36kg. The loss from 72 to 55 was accidental. I ate all the time but I seemed to be slipping.
From 55 to 36 was deliberate. I wanted to die and this was the only way that I thought I could succeed by not straight out killing myself in a matter of minutes. I could tell people I was just sick and they would believe it, not knowing I was purposefully trying to make my body shut down on its own. It gave me time to put things in place for when I did eventually “leave” and it certainly gave me a sense of control over what was left of my life.
During this time I never starved myself. I always ate and I never brought it back up. I only knew how to eat just enough to keep my body awake that day but also was mindful of how to burn it and then some.
I have a few pictures on my phone that I keep there to remember the past. For years I used them as inspiration. They were goal photos if I put on a little bit of weight and had to lose it again.
I’ve always looked at those photos with a sense of longing to be that person again. Up until tonight.
Now it’s changed. I flicked on my phone and for some reason went straight to one photo of me at my smallest. For the first time I honestly screwed my face up. I was disgusted at what I saw. Not because I thought I was big (as that’s how I saw myself then) but because I looked like death. My bones were protruding, my face sunken and yellow and skin stretched over nothing. I looked like the junkies I see in the street and feel sorry for. There was no life in my eyes. I was not beautiful.
I walked into the bathroom to the same mirror I took the picture in and stared at myself. My face is not sunken. My bones are not sticking out and I have muscles where muscles should be.
I am becoming a woman. My hips are getting bigger, my face is filling out and I have boobs! ;P
I know that even two months ago when I saw these changes taking place I would literally scream and cry for hours. I hated what I saw. I only wanted to be that stick in the mirror again. But my head knew I couldn’t.
Thankfully my head has won and finally I can stand up and say I think I have beat it.
I know this is a personal battle that one has to work on daily by herself but I really couldn’t have done it without a certain person behind me. They have used honesty not force and said things in a way that even if they didn’t sink in right then and there they have left a nagging feeling in my sub conscious mind which has enabled me to move forward slowly but surely.
Who knows, I could wake up tomorrow morning and hate my reflection again. But for now I want to bask in the glory of my new found chest and love this feeling of freedom.