"You're worthless. I can't believe you couldn't resist those brownies—you're a total failure."
I spent years of my life in a diet depression. A battle within my own mind and body. No, not a battle—a war. A war between mind and body, head and heart. They fought nonstop; it was a ruthless do-or-die scenario. There were no breaks, no cooling-off periods, no cease-fires. It was constant, it was intense, and it was unstoppable.
Within the confines of my own mind I created a war zone; it was relentless and exhausting. Day after day, year after year my mind fought and my body took hits. My body was the victim, my mind the culprit. My body refused to give up, for years on end damaged and beaten but continued to have my back. My body was a f*cking warrior.
This was my life.
Each morning I would analyze and carefully measure out what I was allowed to eat that day; I would weigh it then toss it in my bag and leave for the day. Everything was so carefully calculated. Upon waking I would walk past the mirror, head to the bathroom, and weigh myself.
That digital number represented the kind of day I was going to have; even an ounce off and I would be riddled with guilt and shame and create an even more restrictive plan to get down to my ideal weight—whatever it was for that particular week.
Of course on a Monday I would start a diet with no research but perhaps a celebrity endorsement that I trusted. I would screenshot it and follow it to a tee, until Thursday when I would throw in the towel and binge eat all the foods I felt deprived of.
It was a living hell.
Everything in my life was affected by this inner war. I felt I couldn't be intimate with people because I was hiding the biggest secret of my life and I was terrified I would be found out. So I sneaked around, drinking laxative tea and eating less than 1,000 calories a day on and off for years.
Each week would be a different diet, a new plan, some "miracle" trend that promised long, beautiful legs and a flat stomach. Whenever the advertisement for the diet had a woman standing tall with long legs I was immediately more drawn to it. I hated my legs, every ounce of them. Growing up I would wear jeans even on the hottest of days to hide my legs from the world, and this carried over into my adult life.