I wish my parents knew that an eating disorder is not just a side issue that need to be dealt with but a way of life that needs to be faced and slowly transformed. There’s a point where it stops being a choice and turns into an addiction that can’t be calmed by simple conversations. I wish they knew how much my throat hurt after I made myself throw up time and time again and how I would cry lying on the bathroom door wishing that someone would counter my cycle of destruction with radical action. My free will was owned by the addiction, by the voices in my head that told me food was the only solution and also the one thing I couldn’t have. I wished there was less of me, a smaller sized me and I got it as I became less and less of myself. I wish my parents knew not to believe the lies I would tell them about being fine and that I was dealing with it. And I wish that they were the ones who finally saw through me and empowered me enough to fight my addiction.