The Day I Decided to Starve Myself - Dear Diary

 

Dear Diary,

It started with a comment—casual, thoughtless, the kind of thing someone says and forgets in seconds. But I didn’t forget.

“You have a little fat on your arms.”

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Maybe they didn’t mean it cruelly. Maybe it was just an observation. But to me, it wasn’t just words. It was a verdict. A confirmation of the thing I feared most: that my body was too much. That I was too much.

And just like that, my world flipped upside down.

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Church used to be my safe space, a place where I could sing, laugh, and feel at peace. But after that comment, I couldn’t enjoy it anymore. 

Sitting with my friends, all I could think about was how I looked. 

During worship, instead of lifting my hands in praise, I worried about how big my arms looked when I raised them. 

Fellowship meals weren’t about bonding anymore—they were just tables full of temptations, plates stacked with the enemy.

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So on that day when my pastor brought burgers and fries for everyone, my friends dug in, laughing between bites, licking salt off their fingers without a second thought. 

But I just sat there, staring at my untouched plate, stomach growling but mind screaming louder. 

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let myself be like them, careless and free. 

I told them I wasn’t hungry. I told myself I was strong.

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And that’s when I knew—I had changed.

So, I made a decision. I would fix it.

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The next morning, I skipped breakfast. It wasn’t hard—I wasn’t hungry anyway, too full on self-hatred. 

By lunch, my stomach twisted in protest, but I drowned it out with water and the thrill of self-control. 

I was doing it. I was making myself smaller.

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The first few days felt almost euphoric. 

I could feel the hunger, but I wore it like an invisible trophy. 

Every growl of my stomach was proof that I was stronger than my cravings, stronger than my body. 

And every time I looked at my arms, I imagined them shrinking.

But then the euphoria faded.

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I was tired all the time. 

My thoughts slowed, but my mind never stopped calculating calories in, calories out, how many bites I could afford to take before the guilt swallowed me whole. 

I stopped enjoying meals with friends, stopped laughing at jokes. 

Life blurred into a cycle of avoidance and obsession.

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I told myself I’d stop once my arms were thinner. 

But the mirror never showed me what I wanted to see. 

I felt like I was disappearing, but it was never enough.