Anorexia. Depression. Two things I never thought would affect me. Words that always seemed to be part of a far-off story—never the reality in front of me.

My days were spent either feeling empty or nitpicking at every problem with my body. My low self-esteem enveloped me, tearing me down, piece by piece, every day. My eyes warped the image reflected back at me from the mirror. I hated every aspect of myself. My flabby arms; my big thighs; my chubby stomach. The list never ended, and things were constantly being added to it. Everything about myself made me miserable.

Starving myself was a seemingly perfect solution. Nothing could go wrong. I could control myself. I never knew that the day I decided I wouldn’t eat lunch would destroy my life. It was the beginning of a long road I didn’t want to be on. My stomach yelling out in hunger was quickly silenced, and I forgot what hunger felt like; it became a normal part of my day. I lost 20 pounds in one month and still didn’t see a difference. What I was doing wasn’t making me feel any better but I couldn’t stop.

Telling my parents that I was sick, depressed, and starving broke me as much as it broke them. It was the moment I accepted the fact that I was not okay. My mask of fake smiles that I had been creating for years shattered in shards around me.

Appointments after appointments were set up, and it consumed my life for a month. I saw support groups, therapists, pediatricians, psychologists, nutritionists and an eating disorder specialist. All these people seemed to have the same questions wired into their brains: “How long has this been going on?” “When do you remember beginning to have negative thoughts about yourself?” I always answered the same way, just like they asked the same questions. I felt very inhuman, like I was just another problem that needed to be fixed.

Although the doctors helped me with my physical health, the mirror still reflects something I hate. My eyes still see the list of wrong things. I still go to an eating disorder clinic once a month, constantly under supervision. It is a constant struggle, and I work every day to get better. I’m working towards that day when I will wake up and love myself—where I can have a smile on my face when looking in the mirror instead of tears in my eyes. I’m waiting for the day when I can believe the words, “You’re beautiful.” I know that day will come.