You hurt me. You took advantage of me. You abused me. You made me believe I was nothing.
I was 14 when it all started, and even now, at almost 20, I’m still dealing with some of these things. None of it was okay, regardless of what you think. I didn’t deserve what you gave disguised as love.
Even with all you did, I am going to heal. I am fighting. I am strong. I am resilient.
Part of my healing is going to come from forgiving you. God has forgiven me for my sins and I am going to give you the same. I can’t hold on to all of this anger and pain anymore. So, although I don’t understand why any of this happened, I forgive you. I am not going to hold on to anything you did to me anymore.
I’m not angry or upset anymore. I am making peace with you in hopes that I can make peace with myself one day.
A month ago, I was losing fast. If I had continued for even another week longer than I did in that extreme restriction, I would have been sent inpatient immediately. The ever-growing, disordered part of me wants to be back there. It wishes I didn’t decide to fight this like hell. It craves the bones, the emptiness in my stomach and soul, the sense of power.
Above all, I want to look sick. I want to be thinner. I want my outside to match this inner struggle I face all day, every day. I feel guilty that it doesn’t because that means I am not following through with restriction and ED behaviors. I feel dirty and gross and huge. I feel like I have cheated on this ED.
I know this is irrational. I realize that being thinner wouldn’t be any better than at the weight I am now. But te thing is, my ED tricks me into thinking it would change everything. It says that I’ll love myself more, won’t cry when I look in the mirror, will feel comfortable in a swim suit. Basically, thinness = happiness. I can look back at those times at my lowest and although I remember being more comfortable with my body, I wasn’t really happy. I was too exhausted and numb and near death to truly enjoy it.
The worst part about this period is that I’ve gained some weight back and fixed my eating patterns to a degree, but I am not okay. Far from it, actually. I don’t look sick though, so certain people (cough cough my parents) assume I’m fine. I guess there are “perks” to looking sick but the one I’m really missing now is that my mom doesn’t get how much I still need therapy and support. I am completely freaking out about next fall and finding treatment at college, but she barely feels its necessary. In fact, she told me I should only go once every coul\ple weeks. She figures that since I seem to be eating fine and look normal I should be healed. The words “mental illness” don’t register. It’s hard enough that my body is changing so much faster than my mind. I just wish others would realize my struggle now as much as when I was smaller. I still need help and support and encouragement.