As I sat by the television with J, C, and G, my new housemates, I marveled at how far I’ve come. Staring at the clean bowl of curry chicken pasta and salad I’ve just finished, I felt a swelling pride that comes whenever I stop to think about the way I used to be with food and now. I felt healthy, for I’ve made a well balanced tasty meal (based on my nutritional sciences background) without counting calories. And it filled me just nice, leaving me warm and fuzzy with the knowledge that I’d just been good to myself by feeding myself. To many, this probably sounds like the ranting of someone mad. To some, this is a dream which they hope will come true for them eventually. Since the eating disorder struck, I never thought I could ever take care of myself, especially when it came to feeding myself. Never thought I could eat a meal without mentally counting the calories or devising methods to burn it off later. Never thought I could prepare a well-balanced meal and enjoy it with others around. Never thought I could live, obsession-free. And I did. It strikes me as strange sometimes that I used to be bulimic and anoretic. How did I get by days and weeks and months on muffins or cereal (aka my ’safe’ foods)? How did I live my life so blindly, focusing only on work and losing weight, instead of reaching out for health and living life the way I would’ve liked to? How many people, how many others are suffering from the manic obsession that binds them to be slaves to food or hunger, and living life in the most torturous manner ever? Self-starvation is probably one of the most complex mental disorders to hit town. It’s a slow and torturous process, where the person kills herself painfully, deciding subconsciously that she doesn’t want to live, pushing the limits of her capabilities as a human – ‘how long can i last without food? how much can i disappear right before everyone’s eyes?’ To think I ever hated myself so much hurts. And I don’t ever want to go back there.