I turn 25 in two days.
My birthday always brings about a certain sadness for me. Yes, I know. I should be proud of myself, happy that I am still alive. Believe me, I am. I am grateful for the chance to try again.
Sometimes, I remember the things I used to do to myself. It makes me cringe. I wish I could tell 14 year old me that I didn't deserve the pain. That when I was 24, I'd be embarrassed to go swimming with my boyfriend's family because those cuts were so deep they would leave inches-long raised scars on my rib cage and thighs. I wish I could tell 19 year old me that running 6 miles in the dead of winter through snowbanks would be more dangerous than relieving. I still don't know how I pushed myself up that last hill, to get to my house. I still remember how cold I felt, how sore my legs were. I remember thinking to myself "I have to make it up the hill because I don't want to die here. I will die here, on the side of this road, if I don't make it." I suppose its a rather morbid thought, but boy was I determined.
Some of these scars are 10 years old. They won't be fading any more. I often consider tattooing over them. But, there is a part of me that likes having them there. I guess they're a part of my past, and I have a hard time letting go of my past. I wish I could. But I am afraid to. I am afraid that if I let go of what I went through - I won't appreciate what I have now. Or at least not as much as I should.
Five years ago, I would never have believed you if you said I'd still be here today. I did not think I would survive recovery. I had developed dumping syndrome when I first started to eat again. My weight went down even further. It was very depressing and I just figured "Well. If I die, I died fighting."
My mother showed me which dress she was going to bury me in when I was 19 years old.
I really don't know how I got to where I am right now. It's still hard. For instance, I have been losing weight. Not intentionally, just from stress. And I'm really just not motivated right now to put it back. I know I should, but it's a tough choice to make. Do I go back to counting every calorie and worrying about everything I eat, or do I just eat and let it be? I also have no idea what it is I even need to weigh. I don't know what my adult weight would have been without anorexia. I don't know what I would look like, what I would have chosen to do with my life. There are so many questions I ask myself and I know there is no use in trying to answer them.
It is just very frustrating to reach a point where I'm really not counting calories anymore, not worrying about what I'm eating very often (if ever) and BOOM I lose 15 pounds.
Sometimes it just feels like I will never be truly free from this hell. I feel like I am just pretending to be better, and that everyone can see right through me and that they know I'm just a sad, damaged fucked up person who will never really lead a normal life.
I just wish I could erase it all.
Why Can I Only Love the Broken?
3 months ago