Life After an Eating Disorder.
A year and a half since my last hospital admission.
Five days after my graduation ceremony and the morning after Post Malone’s concert. Tiredness and nothingness seemed to be reoccurring motifs throughout my life but at this that stage they had almost entirely taken over.
I never thought of myself as someone with an Eating Disorder — that title seemed too esteem for myself and the crumbled body attached. Then again, maybe that was the first sign.
Between 18–19, I smoked my fair share of weed resulting in a bit of weight. My sister was looking to sell the bridesmaids dresses we wore at her wedding and asked me to try it on so she could take photos. I remember the rush when the realisation hit that I could lose weight.
And if I could do it once I could do it again.
“Feels like a lifetime just tryna get by … but I can’t move on … you remind me everyday I’m not enough but I still stay.”
It wasn’t an easy admission but then again when is there ever an “easy” admission? They all seemed harder in their own ways whether that be the crushing reality of growing up, family tensions compacting around you or the everyday look in the mirror.
It wasn’t that bad.
But it was still bad.
It’s strange, you never really thought it possible yet here you are. You look at old photos and feel your heartbreak for the young girl in them struggling.
At times you can feel your eating disorder creep its voice from around the corner and there are days where the crushing weight of your stomach feels so indefinite. But then you look at old photos and remember that the girl in them knew you’d be ok; even in the times she thought she didn’t she still did.
I once wrote, how do you know when the last time is really the last time?
You don’t. You just hope it is and you keep track of the time passed hoping that it never resets.
Don’t listen to the voice. You’re here and it’s better than it was before.
