The full story; ridicule in review. Strength will see us through.

It started up as a release from the evil world. I hated the way that people ignored me and talked behind my back. I couldnt take the failure and losses that were laying infront of me. I needed control, so I started my own little world, where I set the limits. Exercise, exercise, exercise, a new hell's created.I began a a thin, yet healthy 5'4" and 97 lbs. My body was the only thing I felt I had. Sure I had just done fabulouse at Mid-America's Irish Dance Competition, but I got zero recognition for my accomplishments. The horror eveloved as a few simply sit-ups, leg-lifts here and thier, to maintain my figure. Then, it evolved into a form of Bulimia, excessive exercise ontop of large quantities of food. In only two weeks, the numbers on the scale had dropped 4 lbs, but my happiness had dropped, as well.The exercises increased as depression set in. Through my eyes I was worthless, and this was the only thing that I had. I felt successful as I was slowly dying. Everyday grew ever so miserable. Even the most joyus day of the year, Christmas, provoked tears. I observed as my family and friends indulged in deluctiable dishes and desserts, which I had forbidden myslef of. It pained me greatly once I added restriction into the mix. Although, I kept on going, for I had already reached 85lbs. I wanted to go somewhere, I wanted to achieve 77lbs, the weight I was at 11 when my Doctor told me I needed to gain more wiehgt, due to a low BMI.Exercise became the focal point of my life, as well as plans of suicide and fantasies of death. I was so fargone that my mind was going aswell. the only thing that it was familiar with was Anorexia. And, an anorexic'a ultimate goal is death. I had to keep shooting for it. I was expririencing so much sorrow, due to my poor physical state. Little did I know, death was closer than predicted.I became fed-up with the exercises. Once I had began making a routine of waking up at 3:30 am to work-out in secrecy, it became unbearable. I viewed multiple bruises throughout my body, simply from when my joints would come in contact, due to my lack of body fat. I decided to take one day off from exercising. Although, if I wasn't going to exercise, I would be unable to eat. Period. That day was horrendouse. I had a head-ache the entire time, I think that I even spiked a fever. I played it off with a foe stomache-ache, to eliminate suspicion of my family. That plan turned out successful. Although, the emotions consumed me. I was trapped and wanted to escape. I went on the next day, dreading to wake up, for I new that the first thing I had to do was exercise. That night, I had an epiffiney.Tears stroked down my face as I prayed to God to send my mother back, so I could tell her of my troubles and plead for help. God answered my prayers with a long and hard conversation, explaining what the last month had consisted of. Although, I was still in a horrible state.I continued excessivley exercision, going back to school, aslo. People remarked on how thin I had gotten. I simply said that I had had the stomache-flu over Winter break. I ate breakfast, but skipped lunch. I ahd to take advatage of the ease of not eating at school. It was awful, though. I remember nearly fainting at my locker, praying the entire time for the day to end. It was becoming a challenge for me to attend school. My heart was shrinking, so my circulation had gone. I failed to maintain a body tempurature above 94 degrees. This also led to fall-outs and fainting spells. The depression was worse than ever. I wanted to die, and that's the honest truth. I felt as if I could never escape this wrath.I was unable to go to school the next few days, due to how ill I was. This led to a trip to the ER. My body was in such poor condition, that they couldn't even get a pulse read on me. They simply said that they could just skip it. My weight was well below 87 lbs., the weight were deaths become propable. Hospitalization is also required once you reach this state. Although, we failed to get admitted. My mother and I both cried, because we kne it was what I needed, and we were unable to get it.The ER's plea was that my electrolytes were still functioning. This theory was totally bull-shit, because your electrolytes give out a few hours before you dye. The only plan of action was to admit me into Discovery House, a place for "troubled teens". I would sue them for every penny they're worth if I had the chance.I entered the program hopeful, at a frail 5'4" and 83 lbs. My exercising were still being continued, and my state was growing in danger every day. They told me to try to eat lunch. I had a whoppin 205 calories worth of cereal and milk. They also told me to attempt a few less exercises, but they never told me to stop. They didn't even tell my mom that I was still exercising!The next day I came in, wanting everything to end, including my life. They finally enrolled me into an Out Patient program which was terrible, as well. The only plud was that they got me to stop exercising. It was also arranged for me to see a dietician, who put me on a 1,600 calorie diet. i followed it dilligently, making shure to consume not one over 1,500 calories. What difference would an extra 100 make? 1,600 calories was a diet of a person striving to lose weight. I followed the diet, and was released from the program six days later, at 82 lbs. They said that the weight would come, but the plus was that I was atleast eating. I went back to school, which was harder than ever. My thoughts frequently jumped. I was unable to grasp one bit of information. I was constantly purple, due to the worsening of my heart. When I would stand up from my desk, I was forced to hold onto it for a minut, as my vision and senses blacked out.We made freqeuent trips to the Doctor, watching my weight decrease a little each time. Not once did he take my vitals, not once did he reccomend hospitalizaton. He simply commend with the following word that I could give a fuck to hear. " This is a process, don't worry that the weights dropping." The prblem was, my life was dropping, as well. I was slowly dying every day. My mother withdrew from school, for the only thing I was able to due was sit infron of the heater, shivering my ass (lack ther of) off. The only joy of my day was looking in the mirror. I was a skeleton, and I loved it. School work was sent home, but my mind was far to brittle to complete it. Besides, most of my time was occupied with attending lame ass counseling sessions and seeing my rent-a-phsyciatrist. I informed them EACH visit on my falling weight. All they would ever due was pat me on the head and tell me what a "good girl" I was. I had hit 80lbs. We had seen my dietician, and she said that I was making progress, eating every day. Although, my mom's thoughts differed. She began forcing more food on me, as I had not much longer to go. She sensed that. I battled eating the food, and continued with my deathly diet.Finally, my mom began to search for REAL help. We came across the Laurelwood Center for Eating Disoreders in Cleveland. Sure, the drive was of a great distance, but the help was of great quality. We drove up for an assessment. They took my weight of 78 lbs. My vitals were recoreded as the following: blood pressure sitting- 70/45, pulse sitting-34, blood pressure standing- 133/72, pulse standing, 157.The numbers were eratic. We had schedueled an appointment with a physician, Dr. Rome. Due to her popularity, the earliest available was April 13. Once again, I wasn't admitted into Laurelwood. but, this time, it was due to my severity. They said that I was too ill to even be in partial hospitalization. So, miraculasly, Laurelwood notified Dr. Rome of my condition. Our appointment was schedueled for two days late, Febuary 22, 2006.The same insane vitals and weights were taken. I had reached my goal of 77lbs. Dr. Rome hospitalized me immeadiatly. I was even put on bed rest. She alerted me that I would get calories into my system, wheather it was thorugh a feeding tube, or regular food. I decided that I mine as well enjoy those evil calories through food. They told me that I would begin on a 1,500 calorie diet, and then transtioion to a 2,000 calorie diet. theses numbers were pure lies, but they had to tell them. There was no way that I would have aten if I knew the real caloric numbers, which were 3,000 and 3,500. They had to act this fast though, for I will never forget the words that Dr. Rome spoke before my admittance, "You're lucky you came in when you did, becuase if you would have waited even a week longer, it would have been too late." And yes, she was referring to THE "too late."There was no feeling lonelier then being on bedrest, in the hospital. I wasn't even this lonely when I first began this disaster, withdrawn from everyone. I cried tears of fear and regret, as tightly grasped my Rosary. I glance over at the family portrait that my Mom, Dad, and Brother had left me before taking off. I dozed off into the most dangerouse sleep of my life.I woke up, but I was unable to move or breath. I couldn't even open my eyes. All I could view was a white light. Then, I woke up to a beeping noise and a nurse standing buy me. I peered over to identify the racet, it was my heart monitor. My pulse was currently at 5, but climbing up. I really can't go into any more detail, for this expirience still feels my head with too many thoughts to comprehend. One hint though, I had achieved my rediculouse goal. Although, God decided it wasn't time.Nothing, to be honest, improved over the next rew days. I got a sitter who watched me constantly, named Spring Porch. She was a plus to the expireienced. We arriend on variouse conversations throughout the entire day. Even when I wasn't her aptitent, she would still come to visit me. Although, my body was in shock. My weight continued to drop. 76lbs, 75 lbs, 72 lbs. Then, they finally got me to gain weight. This was when the new hell, recovery, had officially began.Bedrest lasted for eight days. I had to take numorouse tests, along with speaking to theses pain-in-the-ass phsycaiatrist. They would ask me why I was in a such a horrible mood and I woudl state "because you're still here bothering me" I know it was rude, but they were the most irritating people, with thier little notes, constantly observing my every action. I felt like I was an animal, being held captive. Now, I had lost the control, and it wa in thier possession.So finally, day eight came. I longed to see my family, take a shower, and WALK! The meanest nurse was one one to bearrer the news of my release into Partial Hospitalization (PHP). I actually hugged her, due to my emmense joy. Of course , I couldn't get out easy, the phsyciatrists had come to pester once my mother arrived.We acted as if we cared what they were saying, grabbed my paper work, and drove home! I examined my diagnosis forms. I had entered the Cleveland Clinic with the following: Malnutrition, Severly low BMI, Severly low weight, Secondary Pulmanary Blockage (Heart Condition), Orthostsis (Heart Condition), Osteoporosis, ELECTROLYTE FAILURE, Acid Reflux, Shrunken Heart, and severe circulation. It was alot to take in.My first day at Laurelwood came at 5:00 am. It was prior to a joyful evening of discovering cards, gifts, and my family. Altough, the evening evolved into constant fighting, over dinner ofcourse. I felt as if I could go back to my "normal" eating habits. My parents thought differently. Once again, I fell asleep in tears. This night was just the first of many, for I was entering the big part of recovery- MAJOR refeeding.I grew used to the whole hospital situation. Vitals and weight every day, and blood work twice a week. Although, the massive amounts of food were very difficult. They had adjusted my diet to 4,000 calories daily, because my weight was barely moving. Laurelwood was very scareed to have me in thier program, because I was sill so sickly. They made arrangements to send me to Oregon for inpatient phacility treatment.My parents battled constantly. Although, I wanted to go. I simply wanted to get away. Spite the feelings of lonliness I would expiririence, I wanted to escape everything thta I was dealing with. But, my parents ended up winning. Laurelwood was a bit angry, they really didn't want one of thier patients to die... and I was still very close.Once again, the weight gain began. I starteed to feel slightly better each day, but my mind was still greatly adjetated. I was socially withdrawn from everyone. People were constantly sending me gifts and cards, byut I failed to call any of them. It was such a challenge to talk to others, because of my sever depression. It was difficult just to function.I had to gain two to four pounds a week. Yes, it was insanity, but it was what I needed. I began to hate my home. My family and I would fight for hours on end to get me to eat. When I was at the hospital, I knew that there was no way around the food. However, when I was at home, there were possiblities of escaping it. I never ventured into those possiblities. Well, atleast not successfully.A few high-points arose. I began making friends in my PHP prgram, many that I will never forget. We were all alike; pefectionists, insightful people, and most of all- stubborn. We did help eachother. It was just so hard to take our own advice. Even though I was gaining weight, I was sitll in a far too dangerouse state. An inpatient bed was arranged for me at University Pittsburgh Medical Center. My parents also mingled me out of that. They were determined to have me sleeping at home, even if that was the only time I could be there.Slowly, I weaved my way back into things socially. The first event I attended was the school play. I had left school feeling so neglected and un-cared for. When I arrived back, it was a totally different story. People were absolutley estatic when they saw me. This actually made me miss school- slightly.Recovery carried on. My parents were doing everything in there power to bring me back. It was very difficult, seeing as my energy dided down around 8:00 pm. I was basically like the ederly, restricted to no activity. But, one nessecary activity consisted of me seeing a dance show. In oreder to attend, I had to complete a small french fry order from McDonald's. I struggled greatly, but succeeded. The show made me cry. I watched the girls frolick freely, as I ONCE could. I could top what they were doing. It angered me, yet gave hope, as well. This was deffinetly a huge barrier broken down. I had motivation, I wanted to dance. In order to dance, my heart had to be completley healed, which meant good vitals. And my vitals were still terrible.I battled more thoughts, more physical pain, as I began to heal. I had run into some large complictions- actual attempts of suicide, cutting (only a few times), and dessinegration of the realtionship between my family and I. I felt worthless, cuasing them so much trouble. All of my actions wre pointless, but I couldn't control, atleast without work.Although, my suiceide attempt was sort of a last hurrah. After that, things were on a steady incline. Two weekes later, on May 8, 2006, after more than three months of hospitalization, I WAS RELEASED! I went back to school, with a smile on my face. I woke up in the morning, excluding my fatigue. The end of this misery was near-After being discharged of the hospital, I began to assume a somewhat "normal" life. It ws a bit embarressing to pull out my feast for lunch at school, and my focus still hadn't come back. I was also anxiously awaiting my exercise privliages back. The weight gain was still neccessary, although, I was getting healthier, further and further asway from death. I would get my vitals taken every day periodically at the nurse's office. She was a miracle with tending to my medical needs. I also had to leave class frequently to eat snacks, but otherwise that, things were on the mend.Finally, on Career day, my vitals came out clear! I called my mother from school, trying not to scream or react to emphatically, informing her that I could exercise, once agian. When I arrived home, I danced, I danced, I cried (of joy) and I couldn't stop smiling. Sure, it wasn't perfect, but the feeling in my heart was. I also played some football and basketball.The exericise thing grew into a routine, as my vitals remained stable. The school year was coming to a close, which greatly relieved me. Focusing was still a challenge, and a summer's time to heal would do me great wonders. I worked my ass off the last week of school, nailing my final material. I finished my fourth quater missing 30 days of school out of 45. Finally, my HONOR ROLL report card arrived in the mail. I was coming back.Summer was a time of joy, along with a time of raised anxiety. I had two pounds left to gain. Although, Cross Country season was beginning. The agreement wa that I was unable to participate in any organized sports, unless I was in my required weight range of 103-106 lbs. I also had to pass a physical.The day for my physical was quite nerve-racking, I wanted so badly to run again. My mind just realeases all the tension when I 'm out there doing miles. My doctor passesd me. No, let me rephrase that, MY DOCTOR PASSED ME! She said that as long as things continue to remain well, that I had permission to run.We began with pilates, followed by practices. I ran 4.5 miles on my first day without stopping once. My coach was extremely impressed. I had also reached my weight rang, somewaht satisfied with my body. the best part of it all was my ability to resume Step Dance. My life was forming, once again.My body was still adjusting to the high-impact of physical stress. I was able to carry out the tasks successfully, but not without an injury or two. I was even able to dance at a few shows. Although, the stress led to much off-time. I wasn't able to run much, probalbly only half of the season, mybe two-thirds, but off and on. Although, when I was able to run, I made it count.Low and behold, my mother had also signed me up for two dance competitions. This was recently after beginning highschool, a huge transition which brought back many unpleasant emotions. I was going to attempt the competitions, with great, great fear.the first two weeks of highschool were terrible. I was unfamiliar with the enviroment, people, teachers, scheduel, everything. I felt out of control once again. This was a bad sign, and I wanted the control back, somehow. I decided to ski9p breakfast one day, btu ended up fessing up and realizing that I didn't wnt to go back, sure, I wasn't too happy at tghe moment, but I could surley turn things around.And I did so. I joined numorouse clubs consisting of Latin, Key, BSTN Update, Debate Team, and CEC, along with Cross Country and the future sports of Winter and Spring Track. I was acclamating. Although, time was coming for the dancie competitions, they were in two weeks, and I could barely survive through my dance steps. Major practice needed to be done.I began practicing. Difficult, yes, rewarding, yes. This went on for almost two days. On the second day, my dancing was improving. My jumps had the heigth, my mother had even phtographed my dancing, which appeared skilled. I was on my last dance, landing one of my jumps. I landed right on my toe, rolling it, hearing a crack, and falinng on the ground, observing the black and blue lump upon my foot and ankle.My dream had been curshed. Another set back. Another excuse. I was sick of things preventing my success. I wanted to make something of myself. Although, that chance was fargone. We voyaged to the Soctor's office the following day. I couldn't even walk. The diagnosis came out to a double srian on the ankle and foot. An air-cast was given to be worn. But, the Doctor said that the competitions weren't probable, but still possible.Time passed as I lugged around my large cast. The first week, I was resricted from all owrkout forms, but the second week, I began ab and arm work. The end of the week was the competitions. Saturday came, and we didn't even bother driving to Pittsburgh for the first one. However, we were required to help out with our home-town competition, at YSU.I arrived there in complete regret. I was still limping, but the magic came over me. The feeling of Irsh Dance musice blaring, thousands of people enclosed and crowded, nerve and excitment- they all combined. I wanted to dance. I didn't care about the apin, I WANTED TO DANCE! I was signed up for five dances. I pranced around the arena, as my friend spectated, suggesting that I should compete, spite my pain. I took there advice, and entered the stage for my fisrt dance, the Reel.I went up fromt he sea of overly-made-up divas, starring the Judge straight in the face. As our eyes met, I felt as if I was spilling out my sotry, pleading for her to listen, to listen through my dancing. I began. I drifted off, ot noticing a thing, accept for my steps, they weren't my best, but I was dancing, on stage, once agian. My Doctors had said that the possiblitlities of this were next to none. Silly me, I believed there words! When I was comlete, I cried of joy, right there on stage, peering out into the applauding audience, watching my mom do the same. I decided to try two more dances, as well, just for the heck of it. Everything amounted to a success. The scoring works the following was. In each group, there's 25 dancers. The top five best dancers recieve a medal, also known as a placement. And, I had placed in all of my dances, coming out with a 3rd, a 4th, and another 3rd. I had recieved more and higher placements, but this was an exceptional day. Risks no longer scared me.I thanked God, and I forever will for that day. without practice for nearly a year, I had conquered. that week, I went back to Cross Country for the last week of the season. I enjoyed and missed it. I worked out almost everyday, leglifts, running, and practicing dance. A few push ups- even some jump-roping was thrown in. I had an opportunity for success, and I was going to run with it. I could come back stronger than ecveer buy my next Dance competition, my next Cross Counrty season./ I simply had to work hard.I wanted to run a bit more, though. So, my mother signed me up for the 2006 Peace Race. Seeing as I ahd only ran a 10k once before, I entered the 2 mile race instead. I hadn't run consistantly (for more tha two weeks straight) in about a year. But, I had maintained my exercising. The race began. I set my pace, and approached the first mile. My usual long-distance mile is 7:30, which was from my peak in last year. My mile pace for the Peace Race came out to 7:12. I finished with pride for having taken another risk.The results were finished, with the anxiety rising. Even though it was childish, I wanted to get a trophy! But, only the top three runners in each age group could revieve one. I didn't know where I had finished yet. Atlast,the results were posted. I FINISHED THIRD! I was jumping up and down, resembling a total freak, but a happy freak. I accepted my trophy very graciously, taking back home to show my proud family. Another doubt was defeated.And yet, my life was only getting better. I joined the school's debate team, and began allowing myself to enjoy what i really loved. i started to get straight a's in school, and really began to like learning. every club that i could join, well, i joined it. call me a nerd, but i was having fun with life. my dancing got better, too, and i made the indoor track team! that winter was a far cry from the previous one. I ran at numerous track meets and began to make my way onto the Varsity team. Although, the girls still weren't very kind I guess, and I was ofcourse shy. But I stuck it out. My times dropped drastically- I ran a 5:45 mile even! I started to win alot of dance competitions, too, and win my teacher over. She was very impressed with my talent, and I was developing an excellent work ethic. This was all displayed through my progress and wins at competitions.Ofcourse though, I had to find a way to fuck everything up, because that's just what always happens. My entire family watched a movie one night, "Running with Scissors", which reflected upon an overly-medicated mother ruining the life of her son while battling drug-induced insanity. I internalized everything, and began to ponder my current medication.So that night, I googled Seroquel, the anti-phsycotic medication that I was taking. I found an entire list of lowsy side effects, including weight gain! My irrational thinking set in, and I stopped taking my medication.I didn't lose weight or anything, I just lost touch with reality. I grew back into a deep depression and entered the realm of self-injury. School and track, even dance grew miserable, for that was my overall mood. After slashing my wrists a few times, I started taking my medication again. But this was after some serious consequences. I felt so much pressure from Track; my coach wanted me to compete at the District's meet. I was scared, truth be told, and faked an ankle sprain. That injury costed me a Varsity Letter, even though my times were indicative of one; participation played a key role in the status. I saw a failure in myself.But I picked up the pieces angrily and moved on. I still had dance to salvage, and Cross Country season approaching with the near summer season. Things would get better, they had too!The school year finally ended, and I finished at the top of my class for my Freshman year. Highschool had been a completly fresh start, I transformed myself into an avid student, one who was filled with ambition and involvement. The school had become my second home with all of the orginizations I was involved with, and I was proud of myself.Then came Cross Country. I looked back on my Track season with great anger and regret. I had thrown away a gift from God as a result of my fear. That moment, I made the decision to give Cross Country full effort. So, I began running with the top girls everyday at practice, and running on my own like the coach reccomended. Sure, I could've been Varsity still even if I were to have slacked, but like I said, this was a full commitment. 40 Miles per week I ran. And I danced every single day. I loved my life. But my metabolism didn't. I began dropping weight involuntarily, but none the less, it wasn't good. I ate everything in sight, and my father decided to let me slide, do to my athletic success and nutritional efforts of consuming 4,000 calories per day. Still, I couldn't maintain above 97lbs.!But everything continued on. And school started again. I had everything going for me, I was one of the top runners at school, and one of the top students. I remained in many clubs and continued to win and both Cross Country meets and Dance competitions. I had even developed a circle of true friends. I was beginning to find myself.This required much work though. To juggle everything took ALOT of effort. I would wake up at 6 am for school, and have Cross Country practice afterwards. Then once that ened at 5, I would go to dance until 9 pm. Dance was proceeded by dinner and excess calories, which was followed by homework. Then finally, I would hit the sack around 2 am. But I was a star athlete, prima dancer, and an honor student. It was worth it, until...I crashed. I went to the doctor's for a rutine checkup, and had been feeling a little drained latley. But I had to work hard. I was blocking out all the pain, for I had the Mid-WEstern Dance championships coming up, along with Regionals for Cross Country. My teams needed me, and I needed success.But the chest X-Rays my doctor took thought differently. I had pneumonia in my lungs! I was forbidden from ALL EXERCISE! FOR THREE WEEKS! I COULDN'T GO TO SCHOOL! WHAT WAS I GOING TO DO?!Those three weeks sent me onto a downward spiral. My negative thougths set back in, because I had no clue how to feed myself without exercise involved. I reduced my caloric intake appropriatly though, with the hopes that I would be running and dancing again soon. I could heal fast enough, faith would get me through.Although, fear would hold me back. I had the opportunity to run at Regionals, but I was scared that my illness had ripped my talents away. I was out of my perfect routine, and school had become a daunting task. But I still held on for dance, because my teacher thought I could win the Championships, and I thought so, too.The next months was a mixture of struggle and depression. Debate team was starting up again, but my mentality was getting weaker every day. I was staying up later and later everynight to catch up on my school work, because nothing less than straight A's would meet my standards. I debated poorly though, and quit the team. My isolationist ways were officially back. But I regained contact with an old friend. This friend of mine informed me that one of her friends was interested in me...One who I had only met once before. I was very inexpirienced with dating, never having a serious boyfriend in my entire life. This guy was 18; a three year difference. He drove and smoked a bit, but was overall very nice. There wasn't a particular connection, I just liked the fact that someone considered me appealing. So we saw eachother a few times.I lied to my parents a few times. This person wanted me to go to his house. The usual scenario was the four of us, him, my old friend, her boyfriend, and I. But he wanted it to be just me and him. I reluctantly played along with this plan. I went to his house and we were all alone. My heart wouldn't stop pounding... I had no clue how to do anything. He told me to kiss him, so I did. It was very awkward and really rattled me. I felt so stupid. Then we just sat there in the dark. He held me, but nothing more. Then drove me home. I was still very nervous, but he played mellow music and held my hand. And then I kissed him goodbye before getting out of his car.And it was even more awkward. And I walked into the house with my head down, trying to cheer myself up and think of a cover story to tell my parents. I regretted everything, and felt so dumb. Even though it was a weekend, I went downstairs to work on a school project; until 2 am. We still talked after that, and tried to plan another meeting. But it didn't work out and time eventually moved on. And he found another girlfriend. And I felt more stupid than ever.As November ended, I was still achieving everything and beyond, but hanging by a thread to say the least. That thread would budge until I danced at Championships. I danced. I danced good. I recalled (place in the top third which qualifies you for Nationals and gets you a medal at the award's ceremony). I got 35th. What? I got 35th? I was SO PISSED BECAUSE EVERYONE AROUND ME WAS SHOCKED. THEY SAW ME DANCE AND SAW MY TALENT. My dissapointment was far from errogant, I was simply heart broken. I danced better than every girl in my competition, even my teacher knew it. So we drove home from Chicago. I had nothing left. I held on for nothing. And I still had to go to a friend's party. I was in no mood to socialize, but my parents insisted. I looked back on the Championships every minute of the party. I felt alone again and confused, along with frustrated and broken. I went home that night, and I couldn't sleep. I had again, fallen apart. Aspirin would sooth me. Lots of Aspirin. At that time, I couldn't tolerate living. 24 Aspirin would solve it all. I was ready for whatever was in store. I was so fed up.I awoke that next morning, miraculosly. My ears were ringing and my head buzzed with toxidity. No one could know this. I failed again! And I had to help out at a spaghetti dinner for track that afternoon. For a local athlete competing in the Olympics, to be exact. She had beaten Cancer and was a contender for a spot in the 2008 Olympics. I went to the dinner in a daze. I got back home in a daze, crying in my room for an end. I had to pull everything off though; my family couldn't find out! I had broken thier hearts far too many times. But nothing got better. I pulled everything off though, and stayed home from school "sick" the next day. Luckily, I ahd a therapy session, where I came clean.My mom cried very hard. I cried too, as we sped to the Emergency Room. I was in a fragile state and completly erratic. I remember getting weighed at the ER. The nurse called out 5'5", 100lbs. For some reason, I felt fat, even though I should have been happy for gaining a bit of weight back. I needed to be withing my weight range of 103-106, but I was still very irrational, allowing ED to work its way into things.Some tests were ran, and I got several IV's. My level of poison was dangerously high, and I was foreced to stay at the hosptial for observation a few hours longer. Than, after 5 IV's, they declared me stable; only to be taken to hell.I entered an ambulance, oblivious to what was happening. I just wanted my mother. I JUST WANTED MY MOM TO HOLD ME IN HER ARMS AND ERASE MY MISTAKES! They were taking me to a physciatric hosptial! I was required to stay there for three days! Only this time, I was thown into a house full of juvenile deliquents, uneducated staff, and disgusting cafeteria food. To say the least, the physc ward did ALOT more harm than good.For the next three days, I was in constant panick. Kids around me were talking about thier sexual promiscuity, drug usage, things that I wasn't associated with and quite scared of. I felt even more alone, and resorted to my only coping skill. I lived off of salad and fat free dressing with a small variety of skim milk, apples, bannanas, and boost shakes. A mere 1200 calories. While there was no option for any of us patients to exercise, this caloric intake still effected me greatly. Upon my dicharge, I had dropped five pounds in one week. My mom found out, too, and pulled everything; dance and running, away from me. She declared all control of food, and deamed me in a state of refeeding. FUCK.So the next month was spent sedentary and miserable. Nothing was improving my depression, and school was too much at the time, so my work was sent home. My mom made me consume 4,000 calories, except, I couldn't even exercise! I was gaining inconsistently, too- Some weeks I would be up four pounds, when others, I would be down four. There was alot of fighting going on at my house, too, and to say the least, Christmas brought no "peace on earth".But by January, I had gained back the ten pounds, putting me back into my healthy weight range of 103-106 lbs. I could dance again! I could run again! But I still wasn't happy. I struggled to attend school, but the depression still had a hold on me. This would linger, too.My grades still stayed at A's, and I made the Indoor Track team again. My performance wasn't were it was in the fall, but I knew that I had lost some as a result of the time off. Track was enough to get me through school, and dance was enough to get me through living. I jumped right back into my physically fit state, but remained trapped in a dark and cruel mental state.St. Patick's day came though, and it couldn't have come sooner! I had numerous dance shows, which were literally the most fun I had expirienced since the year prior. The crowd seemed to always cheer extra for me. Performing lifted my soul. Dance was medicine. St. Patrick's day was one of the best days of my life, because I was allowed to do the one thing I love most ALL. DAY. LONG.The next day, after dancing incredibly, I came down like a heroin junkie off an incredible high. I was slipping back into depression, and screaming that I wanted to die. Because at that moment; I really did. I didn't go to school. I couldn't go to school. I had reached my limit of faking this tolerance. I needed a change. My mom called a mental hospital, but there were no beds available. I had to ride this one out.I crashed and fell asleep. My mom was worried. She called numerous doctors, and there only answeres were to increase my medications. That was done, and that failed. We then began to seek natural health specialists. Everything else was counterproductive, so this was worth a shot.They gave me tests to see where my brain chemicals were at, but we wouldn't have the results back for a few days. I refused to go to school, simply because my mind refused to tolerate anything beyond daily living and dance/running training. It took everything I had to emerge from bed. I was suicidle again, for my life was no way to live.A few days later, I officially hit rock bottom. I remember waking up, and dozing back off to sleep. This continued until noon, when I remembered that I had a dance competition in one week. This required effort on my part to remain commited. Despite how hard this pain was. I got out of bed and just needed an escape. I thought that a nice run might help, but it didn't.And when a run didn't make me feel any better, I knew that somehting was drastically wrong. That entire run failed to clear my troubles, like it usually did. I wanted to actually be put away, for I could no longer stand the thought of continuing to live.I arrived home livid. My parents were prepared to hospitalize me. I begged to simply dance one last time before my life was taken away. I danced. And something kept me together. They didn't take me to the hosptial, because the test results were called back in a few moments later. My levels of Serotonin and Dopamine were completly depleated, ever since I had pneumonia. These were the chemicals responsible for regulating moods, and providing one's body with adequate funcitoning.I had been walking a fine line for months, and miraculously survived the journey. I was started on a supplement regimine to restore my brain levels the next day. My parents finally realized how severe my situation was and withdrew me from school.I continue to run on my own, and dance avidly. I will return to school next year, but must heal mentally first. I won first place at my dance competiton last week, and am regaining more awareness of myself again.My ambitition is returning. My hope is returning, in conjunction with my energy, life, and spirtit. I will continue to hope every day that I will reach a point of happiness in all areas of my life; academically, physically, athletically, and emotionally. Until then, this is my story, and may I continue to gain strength from it with every passing moment.