Chapter 1: Moving to a New World

At 19, I relocated to the United States, convinced that my past struggles with mental health and my eating habits were behind me. I was too inexperienced to understand that for those with serious mental health issues, recovery is often a lifelong journey filled with ups and downs. I was about to learn this lesson in a difficult way.

The lack of control over my food choices during my initial two years in the U.S. was a significant challenge. Living in school dorms meant I had to rely on the campus cafeteria for meals. Dining out was a luxury I couldn’t afford, as my budget was tight, limiting me to necessities only.

The cafeteria food was unappetizing and distinctly American; bland vegetables and fruits, oddly flavored meats, and everything slathered in a mysterious greasy sauce. Having previously focused on a diet of fresh, whole foods, this experience felt torturous. Attempting to stick to a “healthy” diet often left me feeling starved, while the abundance of unhealthy options tempted me, especially the sugary treats I had been warned against for years.

I quickly fell back into unhealthy eating patterns. Yet, I made efforts to maintain a balanced diet by frequently visiting an expensive organic grocery store and exercising regularly at the campus gym. My weight remained stable for the first six months, but then I returned home for the summer.

Reflecting on that summer, I can’t pinpoint what changed. I continued my exercise routine, even enrolling in two fitness classes, and although I wasn’t adhering to a strict diet, I believed I was consuming an adequate balance of carbs, protein, and greens. However, by the end of the summer, I had gained around 5 to 8 kilograms (nearly 20 pounds).

The most shocking part was my oblivion to this change until I compared recent photos with older ones. The realization left me feeling overwhelmed, terrified, and ashamed. Body dysmorphia had always plagued my relationship with food; I struggled to perceive my body objectively. I can’t fully articulate this phenomenon, but it felt as if my body existed independently from my self-perception. Seeing myself as “fat” once again felt like waking up in a nightmare.

I returned to the U.S. filled with anxiety and discomfort in my body. As I started my first year at NYU Film School, the demanding curriculum left little time for exercise, and my eating habits deteriorated. I found it hard to eat in front of anyone, even friends, fearing judgment for my choices and my appearance. Despite receiving compliments for my talents, I remained convinced that others secretly looked down on me for how I looked, a painful contrast to the body-shaming I was used to.

Ironically, I wasn't overweight or unattractive. Many still viewed me as appealing, but my inability to perceive my body accurately persisted. I would occasionally feel “normal,” but a glimpse in the mirror or trying on new clothes would trigger feelings of disgust. My mental health continued to decline, leading to severe anxiety and that familiar emptiness I had known in my past.

NYU offered a counseling center where I opted for a free counseling session and later saw a psychiatrist for a fee. He diagnosed me with anxiety and an eating disorder, prescribing anti-anxiety medication and connecting me with a nutritionist. The first medication was ineffective, prompting a switch to a stronger one. Eventually, he diagnosed me with depression and prescribed antidepressants.

Learning that my issues were legitimate medical conditions was liberating. Until that point, I had been led to believe my struggles were signs of insanity or attention-seeking behavior. Yet, these diagnoses left me feeling defective and broken. I refrained from telling my parents, anticipating their dismissive reactions.

The medications proved beneficial; I concluded the school year with a 4.0 GPA and made the Dean's List. However, upon returning home for the summer, I was immediately told, “You’ve gotten fat.”

Summer brought new hope as I planned a semester in Russia, which turned out to be one of my happiest experiences. However, this led me to make a reckless choice: I stopped taking my medications. I returned to New York convinced I no longer needed them, believing I was doing well. Yet, as stress mounted during the semester, I ignored the warning signs.

As you might expect, this decision had dire consequences. I soon found myself overwhelmed and unable to cope, leading to a relapse into binge eating. Observing my classmates, who seemed unaffected by similar stresses, deepened my shame. I wondered why I couldn’t be like everyone else, why I struggled so deeply while others thrived.

Eventually, I reached a breaking point, leaving class in a panic and heading straight to the Counseling Center. I was subsequently hospitalized due to severe depression, marking my first experience in a psychiatric ward. Surprisingly, I felt a sense of relief; I could finally focus on my needs and accept that seeking help was not shameful.

In a twist of fate, I began to obsess over my appearance as a distraction from life's stresses. I thought, "Even if I fail in life, at least I can look decent." This newfound focus on my body felt easier than confronting my mental health issues or acknowledging my childhood trauma.

I immersed myself in skincare, nutrition, and fitness, carefully curating my appearance. I sensed that my attractiveness gave me power, particularly over men, providing a sense of control I desperately sought. However, my dissatisfaction persisted; I was plagued by concerns about cellulite, stretch marks, and loose skin from weight loss, oscillating between feeling attractive and unattractive.

Between my second and third years of college, I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. Despite excelling academically, I struggled to manage my condition, resorting to self-harm in various forms, including cutting and abusing prescription drugs, alongside suicidal ideation.

My lowest point arrived during the COVID-19 pandemic, exacerbated by a troubled romantic relationship that led to an attempted suicide. Triggers from this relationship resurfaced my body image issues with full force. I experienced severe stomach cramps, rendering me unable to eat, leading to significant weight loss and a cycle of purging.

Doctors conducted numerous tests without definitive results, ultimately concluding my condition was psychosomatic. I managed only one meal a day, supplemented by Gatorade for hydration. Gradually, I began to improve, although nausea remained a persistent issue.

As discussed in the following chapter, these challenges continue to this day, manifesting as bulimia nervosa.

Chapter 2: Understanding ARFID and its Impact

In this chapter, we will explore Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder (ARFID), its symptoms, and effective treatment options.

The first video provides an overview of ARFID, discussing its subtypes, symptoms, and effective treatment strategies for those affected.

Chapter 3: Documentary Insights on Eating Disorders

Next, we’ll examine a documentary that sheds light on the broader implications of eating disorders in society.

The second video is a poignant documentary from the Eating Disorders Coalition, highlighting personal stories and the urgent need for awareness and understanding.