I thought I could control my eating, but it obviously backfired. I didn’t have the coping skills to deal with my feelings, especially the lows of a normal life. I used food as a vice to check out, numb out and escape.

In hindsight, that night was a blessing in my life. It was a turning point … but I didn’t know it at the time. After returning from a two-year stint in the Peace Corps, I was working as a graphic designer for a startup software company in Southern California. I had a deadline to meet on a major project the next day. I was scared of not meeting expectations and nervous about what my boss and peers would think of me and my work, so I tried to calm my stress levels by eating.

It was dark, and I was driving home from work, hands on the wheel, saying to myself, “Don’t stop at the store, Kerry. Don’t stop at the store.” I didn’t need groceries. 

But where did I find myself when I pulled into my neighborhood? At the store, even though I knew better.

Going into the store, I repeated to myself, “This time, it’s going to be different.”

I grabbed a shopping cart, and as I walked up and down the aisles, I filled my cart with all of my favorite comfort foods. Of course, all the while I told myself that the groceries would last a couple weeks, like they would for any “normal” person. 

Paying for the groceries, I continued to repeatedly tell myself that things would be different this time. Once home, I was unpacking the bags and putting the food away, and my hand found the peanut butter jar. After unscrewing the familiar blue lid, I peeled back the silver foil and grabbed a spoon. I convinced myself that I was going to take just one bite.

Yeah, right. I was hungry. After all, I hadn’t eaten all day.

One spoonful turned into two, two into three, and before I knew it, my spoon hit the bottom of the jar, and my heart broke.

Once again, I’d betrayed myself.

I quickly made my way down the hall to the bathroom, where my now too common cycle repeated itself of trying to purge out the food. I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror and saw shame and loathing in my eyes, looking back at me.

“What is wrong with me? What can’t I just get this right?”

But that night was different than all the rest.

After turning on myself with purging, I crumbled onto the cold, small square white tiles that covered the floor. There was an acidic taste in my mouth, and I was covered with a light film of sweat. My heart was racing so fast and hard that it scared me.

“Kerry, you’re killing yourself!”

I knew better and couldn’t claim ignorance as an excuse. The mother of a dear friend passed away from an eating disorder, because her organs failed, so I knew what could happen to me if I persisted in this self-abuse.

It was the first time I REALLY realized that it could happen to me, too. It stopped me in my tracks.

“Kerry, if you don’t turn this around, you are going to die.”