Knock You Down.

07May09

It’s hard. To sit there and face your own deamons. It’s not like avoiding them is going to do any good because they’ll just be there, waiting for you, for that moment when you’re ready to deal with them. And it’s not like if you wait any longer, that they are going magically disappear on their own. You must face them whether you want to or not. Because it’s part of what I call the process of Recovery.

For so many years I viewed myself as The Anorexic. The girl who was so torn up on the side but felt pressure to present a different image. That image, the image I wanted to present, was so something unlike what I ever was. I wanted to be popular. I wanted to fit in. I wanted to be the It Girl. The one who everyone was friends with and the one who everyone wanted to be their friend. But of course, I wasn’t. I was always sitting on the sidelines just waiting for someone to call my name or for someone to at least pay attention to me.

Somewhere down the line I started to loose control. The daily routine of not eating almost became a mental high, a point of achievement, that I could control my food so much to the point where not eating didn’t bother me. I was able to hide this secret. It was a big secret to the point in which just holding it inside me for so many years (more than ten) was killing me to death. At one point I decided to tell my secret. I told my secret to my aunt. And of course, somehow she knew. In fact, they all knew. I guess I wasn’t being so secretative with my habits. But yet they knew the whole time.

Secrets can kill us. They destroy us. I remember thinking that if kept my secret long enough that I’d be able to achieve the body I always dreamed of: a thin physique that immiated my favorite celebrities. It was they, the “thinspiration” who I looked up to and craved that physique. The physique that the media praised, and in some way, I wanted to be praised for my own thinness.

Recovery is something that I swear, saved my life. It’s a process. It’s not an everyday “oh I did this, and I’m cured” sort of thing. It’s a process. A lengthy one indeed. One that thankful to my hard work and dermination that I don’t have to babysit anymore. I know it’s there, I know that sometimes I need to check in with myself, but something that I can leave it be, and if I need to pull out the tools that I learned while in treatment, I can. But for now, I’m enjoying my life Eating Disordered free. This not to say in any words that I don’t struggle. Because I do. Sometimes it’s the little things like feeling uncomfortable in a t-shirt that is fitted or wearing pants that don’t fit but fit the week prior.

Certainly I’m not perfect, and I’d rather have unique imperfections than none.

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