I didnt own a mirror in my first apartment.
It wasnt some sort of personal political statementit was just never a priority for me.
I was 17 and had just moved away from home in Botswana to Cape Town, South Africa.
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I was living alone for the first time in my life.
I had to skimp on a few things, and my own reflection was one of them.
I loved my body, but I also took care not to fuss over it too much.
Part of this attitude may have come from the fact that I never had to practice restraint growing up.
I ate what I wanted, when I wanted.
Food was a pleasure, but one that I didnt dwell on too much.
My apartment block was approximately two minutes away from a huge shopping mall with an equally huge food court.
The flippancy with which I had always approached body issues soon gave way to concern.
My face became so round that I barely recognized myself.
This is when I really became aware of my body.
Now, I wasnt sure my new body would be well received.
And thats when I would fall off the wagon.
I also wasnt hungry for anythinguncharacteristic for a religious breakfast eater such as myself.
Unlike many people who crave greasy food when theyre hungover, I barely felt hungry after drinking.
I started to drink alcohol on outings with friends, too.
Before long, I was losing more and more weight.
But this wasnt under control.
My oblivious friends and family raved over my increasingly svelte figure.
To them, there wasnt anything concerning about my weight loss.
No one suspected that I had aneating disorder, including me.
In my head I wasnt really starving myselfI was merely suspending hunger for another day or more.
When I moved back home, my parents began expressing concern over how often I was drinking.
Tired of the fights, and confident that I would be acquitted of my suspected psychosis, I yielded.
When I came to pictures from my 21st birthday, I was startled.
I had gone on a three-day binge, during which I survived on very little outside of liquor.
I couldnt believe I was looking at myself in the pictures.
I looked unwell, and I realized then that this wasnt the healthiest version of myself, either.
That first session felt like a breakthrough.
Finally, I was speaking frankly about it: My behavior was dangerous and disordered.
One of the most important benefits of therapy has been the discernment it has given me.
In that way, Im able to stop myself from indulging in destructive behavior.
But some things never go away, and food still demands a lot of my attention.
I am still, and will probably always to some extent be in recovery.
Disordered eating, like many mental health issues, never really goes away.
I want this body no matter what, and Im glad I have it.
