I'm OK

I come from a "traditionally ideal" family. My parents are still married, I have great siblings, and my childhood was idyllic...until October 21 of 1995. I was 11 years old and my big brother was my absolute world. At 17 he was wise beyond his years and I knew that any man in my life would have to live up to him...too soon, he was ripped from my life. My brother was senselessly gunned down in a random drive by shooting during a family party. I cried for three days straight and then, I got mad, but not for the right reasons. I was so angry with my brother for leaving. I was truly livid and I promised myself that I'd never find a man who reminded me of him.
    By the time I was 14, I was dating someone much older than me and he was nothing like my brother. For that I was grateful because it meant no reminders. Unfortunately, it also meant he didn't have my best interests at heart. One night I found myself in an inevitable situation. I didn't lose my virginity, but I was forced into an orally sexual act that left me in tears, my soul a little more broken. I made a promise to myself that night. I never wanted to feel that powerless again and I would save myself for the right person.
    That "right" person arrived within my first two years of college. I was 21 and he was the "bee knees", or so I thought. He was never physically abusive, but verbally was another story. 
    At 5'6 and 135 lbs I always felt comfortable in my own skin. He changed all that. The first time we had sex (the first time ever for me) it wasn't beautiful or magical. He commented on everything that was "wrong" with me from my thighs to my chubby cheeks, the list goes on. Every time I ate a meal he would comment on how huge my portions were and how it was no wonder I looked the way I did. By this time, I was so focused on pleasing him that I had lost control of everything else. My grades were suffering, I "hated" my family, food was the devil...this is where my bout with anorexia took shape.
    It was so liberating at first. I'd lie and tell my parents I'd already eaten when, truthfully, I hadn't eaten in days. The control I felt was ridiculous. I chose if I ate or not. ME. Not my mom, not my dad, not my boyfriend, but ME. 
    Within a couple of weeks I was down to 115 lbs, a few more weeks and I was less than 110 lbs. And still, it wasn't enough. I looked sick, I felt sick, my parents didn't know how to help me, but you know what the worst part was? My boyfriend still wasn't pleased with my appearance. Now, I was too thin. He complained he could see my ribs, my hair was thinning out, and makeup couldn't even hide the circles under my eyes anymore. "Basically", he said, "you look terrible. I think we should take a break." And that was my breaking point. Forget broken. My soul felt shattered.
    I went home and cried as I lay in bed. Not only because of him, but also because it hurt to sleep on my hips. I was so thin and it was my fault I let my body hurt like this. That was the night I found my brother again. I begged him to help me. To pull me out of the dark hole I had found myself in. To help me change the course of my life and finally, I forgave him for "leaving".
    The next morning, I woke up and did something exhilirating...I ate breakfast. The next week I did something empowering...I told my ex, "Hell NO!", when he asked to work things out. And I haven't looked back since. 
    At 27, I still have a love/hate relationship with food, but everyday, it gets better. And I miss my brother more than I did yesterday. It terrifies me that I might forget his scent, his laughter, or the way he smiled. But then I find my inner strength and I know that he's always here to remind me...I'm OK.
    
Written By: Ashley Aguillard, Age 27