At nineteen years old, and one month into marriage I found myself in the ER. I was so emaciated my heart was at risk of giving out at any moment. How had this happened to me? I knew my loved ones would see this as the last straw, and force me into recovery. This just couldn’t happen! Not while I was still the fattest anorexic in existence! I was humiliated, confused, and terrified as I slowly began to accept the fact that I couldn’t live like this anymore without dying. If I wanted to live to see twenty, I would have to leave behind the eating disorder that had become my identity, and plunge headlong into the horrifying uncertainty of recovery.
