Four years ago this week, my mom sent me a Halloween care package. It included Halloween decorations, a haunted house soundtrack for our dorm party and a tin of cookies.
I ate a few cookies for lunch. My roommate came back from class and noticed, after a while, that I hadn't gone to the dining hall for dinner.
"I hope you're going to eat something besides cookies," she said.
I said I was just leaving. So I took a walk around campus, calculating how long it would take for me to go to the dining hall and back.
While I circled the Reitz, angry at my roommate who made me do this, it finally hit me: I had a problem.
It might have become more clear to me if I had been sticking my finger down my throat in the bathroom. But I was just "eating healthy" and going to the gym.
Plus, smart girls didn't get eating disorders, I told myself. Those problems belonged to the bimbos barfing in the bathroom or skipping meals, I thought. I also was sure these people somehow made a conscious decision to enter the eating-disorder cult.
I've since learned that eating disorders are about control, and it's often well-educated perfectionists who succumb. Many never seek treatment or come to terms with their issues.
For me, extreme dieting started in high school to correct the one thing I thought was wrong with me: my weight. Everything else was already strenuously controlled. I got perfect grades, was hyper-involved and obeyed all the rules.
Then college came and threw everything out of whack. I got B's. I didn't know anyone. I wasn't sure about my major.
Suddenly, my eating patterns were all I had to hold onto.
Part of me is reluctant to write this column. I worry it will be oversharing, or people won't think I had a "real" eating disorder.
But that thinking is part of the stigma of eating disorders I want to dispel. There is no shame in having an eating disorder, and eating disorders encompass more types of behavior than starving or meal-purging at such extreme rates that people land in the hospital.
When I was restricting my eating and exercising for hours every day, I didn't reach a scary weight. My ribs weren't fully visible; I didn't have to shop in the children's section. The mind games I played were a different story. Every minute was consumed with thinking about what I would eat next. And whenever I failed, the feelings of worthlessness were overwhelming.
At UF, or any other top-tier university, we like to think our knowledge makes us immune. If we know the warning signs for something like an eating disorder, there's no way we can be vulnerable.
Unfortunately, this isn't only my experience. Since I started college, I've seen other people go through the same issues with eating.
College triggers control freaks, who are often the most successful people here. It's a high-pressure environment where it's impossible to be the best at everything. When people are determined to maintain control in uncontrollable situations, they often choose unhealthy solutions.
As midterms come to an end, think about how you're trying to control your life. If you have a problem, seek help - college makes things seem out of control, but it's also a great transitionary period to ensure self-destructive behaviors don't ruin the rest of your life.
I told myself I was too smart to have an eating disorder. Being an overachiever only made me more susceptible.
Hilary Lehman is a journalism senior. Her column appears on Wednesdays.
