I often joked with my psychiatrist (as much as anyone can joke with a pdoc) that I had "anorexia lite." Oh hahaha, get it? My weight never dipped into scary five-year-olds-weigh-this-much territory. I passed out once. My electrolytes never got out of whack. I mean, really, I just got a little carried away with a diet. There wasn't much to worry about - everyone was all worked up over nothing.
But just now I looked through my Facebook photos. Not pictures I've taken, but pictures that have been taken of me. From freshman year through now.
God almighty. I was so, so thin.
No wonder people gave me funny looks. Remember that girl I talked about, the one who could take out an eye with her sharp knees and elbows? The one I said I never looked like? I lied. My collarbones looked like razorblades. My face was half its current diameter; same with my arms. Where did I go?
I can see my reflection now. The only way you'd know I was ever once so thin are my wrists - they're still a little bony. This body I'm in now is radically different from the body I was in - the body I was - four years ago. So many things are radically different.
The battle with my body is mostly won - my weight is "normal," and I have a decent (I think too decent, of course) padding on me. My arms don't disappear above the elbow, and my thighs allllllllmost touch, right at the top. It's a battle in my head now. And that's the hardest to win.