A bean on the plate

One bean was all I wanted on my plate.

Under the watchful eye of my parents and the cackle of my sister, I took the cutlery and cut small pieces of that bean. Slow and careful gestures, through which I satisfied my hunger.

I was fourteen, weighed 35 kilos, and was anorexic.

I remember that one afternoon, I was home alone, I went into the refrigerator to look for something to eat and in a few minutes, I swallowed everything edible, even frozen bread.

A few minutes later, I was in the bathroom down on my knees throwing up everything.

I’d like to find a way to tell you all of this with elegance, but I can’t do it this time, it’s not easy to talk about a disease that hides inside of you, a discomfort ten times greater than one’s body weight.

My desperate need for attention and love was killing me.

“Poor little Cri, you fragile soul, don’t give up. Look at you, what you did to yourself… and, what’s changed?”

There was this constant little voice that came to my heart during the long sleepless nights and I listened to it, to silence it.

Was it my belly grumbling or an angel watching?

I don’t know, but I chose to get help. This is why I want to tell you about it because this disease can be cured.

There are many paths to take, supported by valid professionals and there is you, who perhaps sees you again in my story and I know you can do it. Don’t become transparent, you’ll get sick and it serves no purpose.