My life with an Eating Disorder

My Story: Lauren Brazier 

I was eight years old the first time I had sex. Eight. Years. Old. Unwilling, terrifying, gut wrenching sex. And at that very moment I lost that little girl inside me...

I was sexually molested from the age of eight to eleven by the same man, over and over and over again. “Be a good little girl, don’t tell” are the seven words that haunted me for years, acting as a silent devil sitting by my wayside just waiting to appear and burn what was left of my soul. At such a young age I didn’t understand why this man was doing this to me, it didn’t feel good, I cried every time as he held me down and threatened to go after my sisters if I ever opened my mouth. I was the youngest child, the little sister who truly believed she had to protect them, I couldn’t let him do this to them; it would have been my fault. So I took it, I held my breath and wished for it to be over, inside my eight year old self just wanted a way out, to run away, to hide, to just die. I felt trapped, lonely, scared and I was longing for a control I couldn’t seem to find. So I turned to food...

It started off by skipping breakfast, taking the longer route walking home from school, little things that gave me a sense of authority over my life. Quickly, it becomes an obsession, an addiction, it felt incredible, I believed I couldn’t change what that man was doing to me but I could change my appearance and the way in which I controlled my body. I wanted to become so thin, I wanted people to notice me, all while viewing my disorder as such a goddess that was teaching me how not to feel. 

In the beginning the control was easy and the high was incredible. I would not eat for days; I would exercise for hours or just “simply” throw up everything I ate. I was in control. But somewhere along the road I lost control and the eating disorder took on a life of it’s own. I could no longer control it. It controlled me, just like he did.

Eleven years old and my molestor stopped coming around, he disappeared and I never heard from him again. What should have been a happy day was just the opposite, the past four year caused far too much damage for it to ever just be “okay” again and for a long time I lived in fear that he may just show up out of the blue and the repetitive abuse and shame would return for a lifetime of torture and humiliation.

The disorder grew, it dug deeper into my soul everyday removing any sense of reality. I really did love the way it blinded me from all the pain I refused to deal with inside. I clung to that feeling. So I pushed harder until I became numb. I was a skeleton without a single emotion, walking through life completely lost and I didn’t care. I felt superior, like I was winning. I had such an incredible sense of accomplishment that I gained only from being so empty. 

Fast forward to the age of sixteen, when all that control I held onto so tightly was ripped from my cold dead hands. I was admitted into the eating disorder and high risk mental health unit of Sick Kids Hospital. I was diagnosed officially with Anorexia Nervosa with bulimic tendencies, severe depression and anxiety. I was admitted against my will as my parents didn’t know what else to do, they couldn’t stand by and watch their little girl hurt herself anymore. In that moment I hated them for it, why were they doing this to me?

I spent three months on that floor being packed full of food and forced to talk about my feelings. I hated every minute of it. I didn’t respond to the treatment and was discharged thirty pounds heavier and as I would argue more fucked up than ever. I was now so uncomfortable with my body, I may have looked “better” to my surrounding but my head was still stuck in the same place it was three months earlier and now I had to work that much harder to get back to where I was, I immediately relapsed.

I managed to convince the people in my life that I was doing okay and I went on with my days staying in a place that was just enough to keep me out of the hospital, there was no way I was going back to that jail. I just needed to lie, cheat and hide what was really underneath until I was eighteen years old and officially an adult. I knew that nobody could make me do anything or go anywhere at that point. I became a master manipulator, not something I was proud of but I was so sick that I had convinced myself that what I was doing was okay. I had been living like that, in that hell for most of my life. I honestly believed it was the

thing holding me together when in reality it was causing me to crumble to pieces. It wasn’t just a part of me, it was all of me, my identity. I had no idea who I was without it and I didn’t want to find out, fearing that without it I was nothing.

The destructive behaviour translated into so many aspects of my life. I was so obsessed with being “perfect” that I had to excel in all aspects of my life, dance, school, cheerleading, I had to be the best and I honestly believed that my disorder made me better, gave me a discipline that I didn’t have when I was “healthy.”

I started dating guys who treated me about as well as I treated myself. I stayed in abusive, controlling situations because I truly didn’t believe I deserved any better. I was incredibly self sabotaging. I spent the second half of my high school years homeschooled due to so many hospitalizations that I just simply couldn’t attend school anymore. My life was a constant disaster and I didn’t have a care in the world, all I wanted was to be the best at being disordered. 

I graduated from high school by the skin of my teeth and didn’t waste anytime moving away. I picked up and left to live in Toronto in order to attend OCADU, an arts university. And for a short few months I felt normal, I moved to a place where nobody knew my story or my past and I could be anyone I wanted to be. I partied too hard and ate a lot of crap which triggered a huge breakdown. I was now physically exhausted and what I felt to be fat. I can remember joining the farthest gym from my dorm because I knew I would have to walk there everyday and that meant I would be burning more calories. I lived off of nothing more than apple sauce and coffee and woke up every morning with an obligation to burn at least two hundred calories before I was even aloud to leave my small dorm. It got to such a point that I couldn’t get out of bed anymore and I had to move home. I managed to somehow get myself back on my feet and started back at school attending Conestoga College.

At the age of twenty one my life fell apart worse than ever before. My disorder because so strong, it had me by the back of the neck and there was no way it was letting go until I was six feet under. I lost weight at such a rapid rate that I almost scared myself. I was eating a measly one hundred and fifty calories a day and was not aloud to leave the gym until I burned twelve hundred on the elliptical, my torture machine of choice. I can truly say I lost my mind. Everyone around me was at a loss of how to help me, I pushed everyone out of my life, I made my family hate me, my boyfriend left me, my best friend walk away and I was left alone with such an incredible will to die. My doctor sat in front of me and cried because to quote her: “you are going to die and there is nothing I can do about it.”

I was told by multiple doctors that I wouldn’t live to see my twenty second year at this rate and if I didn’t get help now I might as well start planning my own funeral. Part of me didn’t care, the other part of me was terrified. I spent every weekend at the hospital with IV’s pumping fluid in me, torn between just letting them give my body some type of nourishment and wanting to rip it out because I felt the sodium would make me fat. I started to meet with different doctors at multiple different hospitals and rehab facilities all of which had ridiculous waiting lists. I knew that I would probably die before it was my turn to be admitted. I remember coming to terms with knowing that I may go to sleep one night and not wake up the next.

My parents in a bout of desperation called me up and asked me if I was truly ready to get better, to fight my demons and make a life for myself. If I was honestly willing to try then they were going to send me to a treatment facility in Arizona, Remuda Ranch. It is known to be one of the best treatment centres there is but it was going to cost them a leg and a foot. I agreed and was on a plane a few short days later. I took a deep breath and told myself that today was going to be the first day of my new life, I couldn’t live like that anymore, I couldn’t keep hurting the people around me.

I was three thousand miles away from everyone I knew and loved and was about to do the hardest thing imaginable, I was terrified but I knew I had to do it. My stay at Remuda Ranch was incredible, I learned so much about myself and was able to truly learn who I was for the first time in my life. I met so many 

much about myself and was able to truly learn who I was for the first time in my life. I met so many amazing woman who all had unique and heartbreaking stories as we supported each other into become fiercely independent and strong woman.

That being said, treatment was only a stepping stone into what I believe has helped me get to where I a today. I struggled when I left Arizona as transitioning back home was a big step and I still had a lot of work to do on myself, my immediate goal was to keep my head above water and graduate from college.  

In treatment they instilled in us the concept of accepting and loving yourself as you are, and as much as I agree this to be true I knew that my obsessive personality needed something to thrive on. I couldn’t wrap my head around trying to love myself in a body I didn’t feel comfortable in. I needed an outlet for this side of me. I had spent my life being active and even though I had an unhealthy relationship with cardio and burning calories at the gym, I knew I wanted to get back into an active lifestyle so I picked up a weight. I took a deep breath, walked into the part of the gym I deemed scary for years and pick up a damn weight and I’ve never looked back since. For a long time I stayed away from cardio completely as I didn’t feel I was mentally able to take that on just yet but I quickly became obsessed with the high that weight training gives you. 

As months passed and my love for weight training grew I felt the need for more, so this began my journey into the competition world. I began prepping for my very first show... 

Bodybuilding, weight training, a vast understanding of nutrition and what it takes to fuel my body, all things associated with this sport have saved my life. I am now three years in recovery and I’m damn proud of where I am today. I am healthy, I am strong and for the first time since I was eight years old I am free.