I have spent a lot of my life being unhappy. I have wasted many years living in situations that I didn’t like, striving for goals I didn’t care about, tending to people that didn’t share my passion, and just all around settling for less than I desired. At the start of this summer, I was struggling with my eating disorder again. I felt that familiar icy cold hand on my shoulder comforting me and I watched myself do whatever it asked. As I fell further into ED’s grasp, I saw myself losing the happiness I had found over the last 6 months or so. One morning I was lying in bed planning the food I wouldn’t eat that day when it hit me that this time, it was my choice. In a inspired fit, I ran down the steps and made breakfast. I ate a bowl of cereal and drank some juice. I decided that I was turning everything back around.
That was the plan. I started right away to eat like I was suppose to. I started doing what I need to do to have a good system of meals built up. I got recipes and groceries. I stopped checking that my pants hung too loosely. I stopped obsessing about my arms. I was ready to get back on the path of success.
Then, I feel like the car accident robed all of that from me. Sure I am eating well since I got out of the hospital, but I am not doing it alone. I can’t cook or take incentive to get a meal. Someone else has to do it for me. I wanted to prove to the world and myself that I could do it, and I lost that chance.
I wanted, more than most things, to really get myself healed from the eating disorder this summer. I have the chance to make some strides with that, but I can’t do anything alone so the real test won’t come until it is all up to me. I don’t want that to land in the middle of the semester next fall. I want to be done with it now.