Those who know me know I love pancakes, donuts and just about anything sweet; but ED doesn't.

Those who see me may think I look great. My arms and legs are muscular and toned, I have curves, but ED sees none of that. When we look in the mirror he points out the fat that isn't there or maybe some that is. We stare at my stomach, criticizing every single inch of it, even if there is nothing in it. ED constantly tells me that I need to be skinnier, more muscular, more toned. He tells me that I need to eat healthier. That yes, that one single donut will in fact make us fat. ED is a part of me, which is a real bummer, because, if you haven't noticed, he's kind of a prick.

You may be thinking: "Who the heck is this ED guy?" And, if you are thinking that, good; that means you haven't been affected by him. But if you know what ED really stands for, whether you've fought him or her, or whether you know someone who has, I'm sorry.

See, ED is not a person, but a disease: Eating Disorder. And ED--he sucks.

Eating disorders: I've always had judgments and preconceived notions about them. I thought they were strictly about food. That makes the most sense; after all, eating disorders are something people get when they're afraid to eat or when they want to be skinnier. I did not know that an eating disorder sliced more than just skin deep. I didn't know that an eating disorder could strip you of everything: your energy, your fire, your passions. And I definitely did not know that an eating disorder could take away your will and your drive to live, until mine did.

You see, I started out in control, or so I thought. This past fall, I decided to get "healthy," because I had gained weight in the spring of that same year, and that freaked me out; I decided that I wouldn't ever gain weight again. I told myself that this time of "getting healthy" would be more consistent. I decided I would stick with exercising and eating "healthy;" no more cutting it short. So, I stuck with it. I began working out three times a week and eating regularly, but things quickly went south, and soon I was working out six times a week and becoming more and more restrictive on my food intake. Around the end of December 2017, I had lost control, and ED began running my life.

Once I was back at school after winter break, things only continued to decline. I had picked up another job and joined more extracurricular activities at school, in addition to a full class load of nursing credits. So, as my stress increased, my ED got louder. He continued to tell me that I was fat, worthless and never enough. I couldn't let go of working out because it was so wrapped up in my identity; I thought if I stopped working out I wouldn't have any value as a human being. I began waking up at 6:30 a.m. every morning and going to the weight room. The amount of weight I was lifting slowing increased as my weight and intake of food slowly decreased. I kept doing this for almost three months, and it didn't take long for my other mental illnesses to become loud, and for me to quickly become suicidal.

In March, I started going to The Emily Program in Duluth for treatment, and, as I fought against ED, he only fought back harder; by the end of March I became suicidal.

Things almost ended. I almost took my life because of all the lies I was hearing in my head, not only from ED but from Satan, as well. Luckily I had (and do still have) some amazing people in my life who kept me safe from myself and my mental disorders.

After being in a crisis center two times within three weeks, my friends suggested that going back to school would not be a good idea. Naturally, I hated the idea, but, with support of my family, friends and therapist, I left school and went to residential treatment at the Ana Westin House in St.Paul. There, I received 24 hour support around my eating disorder, but things were still extremely difficult. I was at the house for two weeks, and then I stepped down to Intensive Day Programming (IDP), where I went to groups for seven hours a day. I found myself extremely angry at everything that had happened, but kept moving forward. About one month later I stepped down again to Intensive Outpatient Programming (IOP), where I went to groups for three hours a day. I am proud to say that at the end of July I discharged from group completely, and now only go to The Emily Program once a week for dietitian and therapy appointments.

Although life did not seem worth living to me for a long time, today, I am grateful to be alive. I appreciate the good and the bad, and I know that life is worth living. Even when it seems like there is no light anywhere in the distance, it comes. The light came because I kept fighting, and I want you to know that your light will come too. Please don't give up. You deserve to live a life free from your illness, but the only way you can do that is by continuing to fight. Every. Single. Day.