The Reign of Us

It’s a hard conversation I would know. I have it multiple times a day with myself, or a version of myself that I thought I could escape. If I just stayed in New York I could be fat, and happy, and full of life like I was, but I can’t and I didn’t.

I used to think that growing up was about facing the challenges in front of you one at a time, so this is what I did:

I met anorexia a few times for drinks before we became close friends, sisters even. She would take me out to coffee and gently remind me about the numbers associated with each order, offering me a size small so that I could better resemble a cheerleader, a pageant girl, a beautiful girlfriend, and a daughter. So that I could resemble everyone but myself because no one ever hurt me the way that I did. Things were my fault and I took blame constantly and internally. I would apologize to brick walls, encourage my own manipulation, and love every single friend that walked away before I even stepped on the plane.

It didn’t take long for the two of us to be conjoined at the hip, anorexia and I. She was an alter ego for me, someone that I could count on when I needed to conjure a perfect lie. She helped me trick my peers into thinking fruit was my favorite food when in reality it’s all that she would let me consume. She “made plans” when my friends did, that over time divided my friend group from five to four. She knew they would stop for ice cream, or get dinner, or literally anything normal that didn’t involve fasting, or exercising. She was smarter than me, quick-witted, and judgmental about things I would never seem to notice without her. She read books about weight loss tricks as I would sit in the back of our mind, not yet aware of the disease taking slow and complete control over me. Growing up with a narcissist alter ego living in your head is entertaining, to say the least.

She ruled over the bane of my existence like a queen and demanded to be treated as such, all that she lacked was a crown.

But she gets what she wants, even if it would inevitably kill us both.

In 2017 she won our first fight that didn’t pertain to the lack or gain of a calorie. She used my name to get there and I let her. I am guilty of this crime as I was in awe of what she had done to our body. I genuinely felt beautiful, not beautiful enough but closer than I had ever gotten. She brushed my hair beneath the cheap, rhinestone-covered, mound of plastic and metals and told me that she was proud of me.

At the time I could not differentiate between the two voices in my head, and it felt like for the first time in a long time I was proud of myself. Other girls were proud of me too until of course, I opened my mouth.

I, Katie Biggar, apart from my disorder that tries to shrink me, am a lot. I say the wrong things too often and I use profanity as adjectives to be funny. Humor, at least mine, isn’t welcomed with open arms at Miss Texas. Although she had won, I was still behind the wheel at the wrong times.

My interview at Miss Texas was her second win because I lost.

One of the old fucks behind the table made of cardboard asked me about my hardships and I opened up about my eating disorder, fully. I felt beautiful and small and I thought that they would listen instead of analyzing, but they were judges. That makes me sound like a dick. They had one job and it was to judge my character, the one piece of me that I still had control of, and they fucking hated me. To be fair so did I, and so did she.

“Have you ever been diagnosed with an eating disorder?” no. I hadn’t. But I was standing in front of a group of plastic people, cursing to get my point across because no one listened. I craved attention, and as I was standing there, the center of it, I wept.

Thank god I lost.

After that pageant, I cleared my mind and decided that it was a breeding ground for eating disorders. I’m still trying to get that stigma out of my head, but it’ll take a lot more convincing.

In 2018, my senior year of high school, I got into an outpatient facility at Arkansas Children’s Hospital. I was diagnosed with anorexia and orthorexia tendencies, meaning I starved myself and used copious amounts of exercising as punishment. Not all orthorexics use it as punishment, some just get into a routine and can’t see that it isn’t healthy or normal. Some even call themselves fitness gurus, I did that one for a bit. I was unaware that a “fitness” lifestyle incorporated balance, something a lot of disordered people have a hard time understanding.

This is what my eating disorder (she) thought of treatment: We are not thin enough to be considered sick.

This is what I (me, Katie) thought of treatment: I am not thin enough to be here, but living like this is surviving and I want to be better.

But this is what happened: I was hospitalized. I finished the Harry Potter books at age 18 in a hospital bed that she and I put us in. This battle was ours, we sat there for a week turning a new page every few seconds to find a stack of books at the bedside table at the end of the week, not a visitor insight that wasn’t my mom. Not a friend because we had pushed those away from a while ago, not a boyfriend because he couldn’t watch what I was doing to myself, not anyone but me, my mom, my (eight plates a day) of food, the voice in my head begging me to throw it up, and my four walls that opened into a hospital with people that needed real help, people that wanted to live.

A few weeks before that hospitalization I received an email from The New School’s (TNS) liberal arts college with my acceptance letter and scholarship. My dream colleges were Columbia and NYU, but it’s important to know your strengths and mine have never been testing. My ACT scores are laughable, therefore I looked into colleges in Manhattan that didn’t require ACT or SAT scores, but rather an essay. When I found TNS on google I was in awe of the architecture (I now know that the Union Center is slowly sinking 5th Ave). I saw myself there, I liked how small I would be compared to high-rises and people made of glass. I liked the thought of ripping myself from her, our routine and familiarity would be impossible to find in such a spontaneous little island.

We were given an ultimatum, either recover and leave or recover in inpatient and do community college. I needed to be hospitalized to shock her, she needed to understand how severe this could be if we kept our relationship the way it was.

It didn’t feel real until I was there. I was still underweight, but I had made strides that allowed me to live my dream. I won. I beat her. The crown was metaphorical and I reigned over that mother fucker for a year and a half. My time at The New School was everything that I had ever wanted. I made friends, I, Katie, made friends! I got a job at a bakery because I felt like it would be good for my eating disorder, a shock in the system. Being around food and listening to different orders helped me understand how to eat like a person, you forget how to stop counting calories when food has just been a grotesque number for so many years. I detached from who I was and that meant letting go of certain people, triggers, and religious ideations that previously locked me into my routine (I went about this in a reckless demeanor and for that, I apologize to no end). I went to parties with new people and made bad decisions that I learned from. I drank calories that I didn’t count and I ate until I was full. I did this until my body caught up to me.

My reign ended when I got sick. I got really sick. I had to leave people that I loved and it ended up hurting them, again. I cut all of my ties when I left, so when I got back she was sitting there on my bed waiting for me. She took my hand and led me to the mirror that I once used to body check every part of me. I had not looked into a mirror, I mean really looked, in over a year. When you’re happy, the happiest you’ve ever been, looking into your imperfections in a mirror isn’t really a top priority. I had gained over 75 pounds and it was obvious in the way my body folded like laundry. We got a gym membership again and the process started over.

I worked out every single day. I ate because I was used to it. I picked up college again at the University of North Texas, and then the pandemic hit. A lot of my friends that I made in New York had to go home because of it. The New School is very expensive and it’s worth it if you’re there because you’re paying for a location, but online college is not worth that financial burden.

I made trips happen with money that never really existed. I put my energy into relationships that felt one-sided, and now I am here.

The other day I got back from New York City, it was the best vacation I have ever had. I spent time with my boyfriend, my best friends, and myself. I made good memories there that week and I reconstructed my idea of that city. It never really changes, but I need to face what I abandoned and make peace with where I am now.

When I got back I called my therapist to make an appointment and she canceled. I walked to my bathroom in my new apartment in Texas and stripped the clothes off of my body. I wept at the sight of my bones, but she told me that I still wasn’t thin enough. There's no ultimatum this time, why would I want to get help if there isn’t a goal? Why would I go through all of the work to get so thin if I just wanted to recover? I made a very quick decision before she could make it for me and I called an outpatient center in Plano.

I want more than anything to learn how to live a balanced lifestyle. I want to eat like a person and learn how to exercise without the extremes. I need to relearn how to exist and I’m willing to without a goal.

I now know that growing up is about facing the challenges in front of you one at a time, so this is what I am doing:

I am going to get better. I am going to stop apologizing to brick walls. I’m going to keep people in my life that want to be there. I’m going to get help because no matter how I look physically, I will never be as beautiful as my mind, it just needs some time to process.

If you or a loved one are struggling with an eating disorder please use this link:

https://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/help-support/contact-helpline