I was an Anorexic Ballet Dancer

It seems anorexia has fallen into fashion in popular culture these days. What with the slew of Internet "Pro-Ana" and "Pro-Mia" sites, and with starlets like Nicole Richie or Portia Del Rossi glamorizing the disease, many men and women in Industrialized countries are following suit and developing eating disorders. In America, a country where obesity is at an all-time high, the siren song of control over one's body and life has a strong pull. But, even in less recently developed countries, such as India, anorexia is on the rise, thanks to the popularity of Western movies, music stars, and other media.

But it isn't all about the media and wanting to look like a movie star or model. That's a common misconception. Anorexia is not all about looks. Some people who develop the disease could care less about their appearance. It's more about control. Controlling their lives when all seems to be spinning out of control. Making a statement without verbally rocking the boat. Silently wasting away, squandering their gifts and talents because they no longer want to live in an imperfect world where they, too, will always not be perfect or even good enough.

Let me tell you about myself. I started taking ballet lessons at a very young age. I loved to dance! And, as a little girl, I shared many other little girl's fantasies and dreams of becoming a Ballerina. To see those beautiful, almost otherworldly creatures in the spotlight, lighter than air. It was my dream to become that fleeting thing of beauty.

But, ballet, in reality, is a very physically demanding, excruciatingly difficult form of dance. What started out when I was five years old as a fun pastime, became a series of grueling drills with little positive encouragement. My love for the dance carried on, though, and I scorned those girls who dropped out later to march in school band or to be on the pep squad. I mean, how could you care about boys and football games when you could become instead a flying angel? You could dedicate yourself to art entirely? It just didn't make sense to me, and I retreated more and more into my shell.

At some point in my studies, I decided to amp it up a bit. I had always had this dream of becoming a Ballerina, yet, as a teenager, it was time to make it a reality. Looking back now, I realize that I was a great dancer who took it much farther than most. I had a lot of talent and heart. But, I started attending a "professional" school, where all the dancers were younger than me, and better than me. What's more, many girls my age seemed not to have hit puberty yet! There were girls that were sixteen years old and had yet to menstruate. I was very slim as a child, but puberty had not been the kindest to me, and now, practicing day in, day out in front of a full-length mirror, my head several inches above all the other girls, I knew I had become a slob who wasn't serious enough about dance.

I started reading books about weight loss and getting tips on following a low-fat, low sugar diet. It was easy. Many of the other dancers did it, and the teachers, in fact, encouraged the older ones to diet and put them on low-fat meal plans. I lost a few pounds, and everyone complimented me on my more streamlined body. I liked how lean I looked in my leotard, and felt that I was finally GOING PLACES, dedicating myself, making improvements to My Dance.

My eating did indeed, just like the Eating Disorders Websites pro port, become a lifestyle. I found it harder and harder to splurge on junk food, as that was outside of my "mission" and disrupted the "purity" of my body. I had become a martyr, a saint, giving up the slovenly life for my quest of perfection. I practiced dance like crazy, going to rehearsals every day, and even having Dad build a studio with a Ballet Barre in the basement so I could practice even more. I was gonna do this thing, and Hell if my body was going to put a barrier up between me and my dreams.

In a little under a year, my body weight plummeted. I went from a healthy 120 lbs. to 79 lbs. I, at seventeen years old, was forced into treatment for my anorexia. The dance instructors at my dance school would no longer let me dance, as they would be responsible if I hurt myself. The people who at first had complimented me now averted their eyes, not wanting to look at my skeletal frame. No one would speak of what was going on with me. It all around me was seriousness and silence.

Eventually, through lots of therapy and tears, I returned to a normal body weight. It took a couple of years, and I still can feel that perfectionistic voice inside me even today, over ten years later, hissing at me. "What have you done to yourself?" she hisses. "You've wasted your life! You'll never amount to anything! You'll never be good enough!" If I still listened to those thoughts, I would be a very unhappy person. Fortunately, they've quieted down a bit, and I've learned to accept myself with all of my imperfections and flaws. It's ok, maybe even good to be imperfect. That means I'm human.

Sometimes you've just got to give yourself some credit, and let yourself backslide a little. This life is hard enough without a person beating themselves up inside. I, after all these years, finally believe in myself and know that I am good enough, just the way I am. This is the message I wish to impart to all eating disorder sufferers. You may not believe me, but you are good enough, just the way you are.