I never got to hear my daughter cry, or laugh, or even breathe. But I got to hold her and feel her against my chest as I cradled her lifeless body for eight hours. I slept with her in my arms and carried the illusion she was slumbering peacefully, even though I knew better. Even though I knew this was a whisper of the life she would never get to have and the moments we would never get to share.

I was raised almost entirely alone for the whole of my childhood. I don’t just mean that as in I was a loner or kept to myself; I was raised on eight acres of land with little to no exposure to the world. Due to the teachings of the cult my mother was a member of, I was never educated. I taught myself to read, and learned all my basic writing skills on the internet. In the time between, I played alone in the woods. Whenever I did attempt to interact with kids my own age (usually by going to the town pool) I was teased mercilessly for my lack of common knowledge

What do you think when you read the word “anorexia”? High fashion models? Crazy teenage girls? Another diet? Or the latest Lily Collins movie? How about a ten-year-old girl that ended up with a lifelong journey for recovery? Eating disorders are considered addictions, but unlike the addict, who can abstain from the substance, I can’t. I must face both my fear and my “drug” every 2-5 hours, every day.

I fell in love. I got married in my 20’s. Settled into a beautiful condo with our pup, Miss B. I had a great job and my career was in full swing. Life was going well and on track for greatness. Then, in a flash, or so it seemed, it all came crashing down.