We go back to 2014; I just started Middle school. Starting, I felt like an outsider. Already not fitting in. I remember sitting in the cafeteria looking down at my food already feeling sick to my stomach. Seeing the grease from the pizza, and all the bread from the crust. An unrecognizable voice came into my head, slowly saying, "Don't...eat." I pushed my food away, and I thought to myself, "Maybe this is a good thing."

It all just started cutting out lunch going on with my day running on breakfast and dinner. Something still felt wrong I couldn't put my finger on it. That voice came back, saying, "Breakfast makes you fat." It came back with such a grave tone it felt so real I panicked. At the same time, I loved how much it made me crave for more. I decided to cut breakfast, waking up to an empty stomach; it made me feel like I had power the power I've been waiting for my whole life. Slowly I saw the number on the scale drop. It wasn't good enough. Nothing was ever good enough.

A couple of weeks have passed by, I have lost a significant amount of weight. I was cold all the time, and my skin would be so dry. Although I lost the weight, I felt trapped in my skin. Looking into a mirror felt like looking through a funhouse mirror, I never saw what other people saw. "You've lost a lot of weight." "You have to eat." "You look unhealthy." "Are you okay?" "I'm fine. I don't have an eating disorder." I say with these white lies. No matter what anyone said their words came out as "You're fat lose some weight."

 Days after weeks, weeks after months, I couldn't recognize myself.  My hair was beginning to thin out; my skin was a discolored yellow with bruises all over my legs, lips would turn blue. My eye sockets looked sucked in. I felt beautiful.

Every night I would hear the sorrows from my mother, seeing her daughter slowly kill herself and feeling like soon she would see me in my death bed.  Soon enough, I was 89 pounds, and to this day, I still have an unforgetful memory. I went a week consuming nothing but water. Immediately I had massive pain in my chest, my heart beating so fast it made my ears explode. Screaming to the top of my lungs being unable to breathe, yelling out, "I'm about to die." As tears were streaming down my face, my mother rushed to my room entirely in shock, crushing down on her knees, bursting in tears dialing 911. As everything was turning black, the last thing I remember is feeling my mother's gentle hand gliding down my face and her saying softly, "Marianna I love you please don't leave me."

  Hours felt like seconds. I slowly opened my eyes, confused about where I was, I slowly moved my head to the right. I see my parents laying next to each other. My heart races a little then I slowly move my head to the left I saw my vitals signs. "Am I in a hospital?" I thought to myself I hear footsteps come in, but I wasn't able to tell if I imagined all this. "You're awake, how are you feeling." My mouth felt sewn shut, unable to communicate but glare at the doctor. My parents have woken up, and they were told to step outside to talk. Out of curiosity, I forced myself up to pain, rushing all over my body. Seeing my parents bursting into tears looking towards me, waving goodbye, I panicked a little. As soon as I saw them leave, I shed a couple of tears trying to control myself, but it feels impossible to stop.

 I was left alone for a couple of hours until a nurse has instructed me that I will be moving in an inpatient facility. I was terrified. I got my things ready, and I started walking to the front lounge where paramedics arrived they settled down in a wheeled stretcher. This point forward I felt like I was never going to get my life back. The happy child who took no consideration on their appearance, but instead want to change the world to make things better for her and her family. I felt like a disappointment. "Why did I let myself get to this." My mind rushed with suicidal thoughts. I thought I was better off dead. No one had to worry about me because all I did was disappoint people with all the bad decisions I have made. I was taken to SpringWood hospital. Arriving, I felt nervous, but I knew I wouldn't get better; I was stuck like this forever.

 At the time I was staying, I had an NG tube helping me gain weight. I felt disgusted I would see myself starting to get more and more pounds on me. Every night after vitals, I would quietly do sit-ups trying to burn as many calories as possible. My abdominal muscle would burn like crazy every night. I refused to get better all this hard work I've put up with to be this thin I couldn't let go.

 Recovery is a complicated process. You have to accept the changes you are willing to make, but most importantly, you have to agree with yourself that you do want to get better. After three years of relapses, I have accepted to love my body for all the changes I have made. The calculator in my head finally stopped. I was able to see an apple and only an apple, not fifty or half an hour of sit-ups. I'm proud I stop seeking revenge in this body. This was the year of eating when I was hungry without punishing myself, and I know it sounds ridiculous, but it was difficult.

When I was little, someone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, and I said.. "small."