Just some late night thoughts when I should be going to bed but am instead working on a lab due in 3 weeks.
I realized that almost no one I currently spend a lot of time with knows that just 2 and a half years ago, I was on my deathbed. That 3 years ago, I was slowly dying. And the few who do know my story weren’t there to see it, so they can’t really know how far I’ve come.
I’m not complaining, really. I’m glad I haven’t let my anorexia or my recovery define who I am today. But I do feel sometimes likely my eating disorder history puts a thin wall between me and other people, because it forever sits, cold and dark, in my heart. I’ve been places, thought things, that many people around me never have.
I miss my girls who walked through the chaos with me toward the light. I miss them and love them always, even from 3,000 miles away.
I love my life, for the most part. I’m not happy all the time, but I’m proud of the woman I have grown into. I love being alive, despite its miseries and loneliness. I am so glad I chose to walk away from the comfort of death in 2010. Even if this world contains pain and grief and loss, it also contains immeasurable beauty and love and hope. And I want to see as much of it as I can in my time. Dancing, singing, loving, laughing, free of the monster who caged me for so many long years.
How much am I losing because I’m afraid of what might happen if I really do live? How much are we all losing in our lives because we are afraid? What are we afraid of? Life? Love? Happiness? Success? The truth? The world? The future? Who we really are? How am I supposed to know who I was really meant to be?
Recovery is harder than an eating disorder.
The strongest people are the ones who have beaten it.
