Not so long ago I made a deal to create the person I thought I was supposed to be: perfect. All I had to do was listen to that sweet and convincing voice telling me all of the rules and the ingredients of perfection. Of course, now I know that the voice was really a monster and the deal came with fineprint I never bothered to read. I traded my life and happiness for an idea-a faulty product that never appeared.
It's so easy to get sucked in, after all the monster is a great salesman. And when you realize what exactly you've sold, basically your soul, it's too late. You're trapped bound by an imaginary contract you never should've signed. The good thing is that if you can sneak away for even a second and ask for help regardless if you get sucked in you have a better chance of getting out. But it's not easy, and it won't be for a very long time.
Right now, for the most part, I am in a really good place. Mostly with my anxiety and depression, I haven't felt this "free" from them in years and it feels amazing. Unfortunately I am not yet free of anorexia. But it's getting better, I stepped on the scale the other day and didn't die when the number flashed (106*) I felt good and happy with that number with almost no desire to go under. I can look in the mirror without wanting to crawl out of my skin, I can even look at pictures of myself that I've HATED and realize that I actually don't look too bad, or too big. Of course, I still don't see too thin in any of my old pictures, though there are some where I can look in my eyes and see how unhealthy I am.
All this is good, right? And you're probably wondering how I can still not consider myself free or close to free from anorexia. Well, all of that stuff is good and amazing the problem is that I've become terrified of food. And not because of calories or anything that I can exactly figure out. But it's causing me to restrict even more than I did before because even though I want to eat it scares me too much. Even my safe foods aren't safe and I can't fathom the idea of touching or tasting anything. It makes me sad and scared that I have developed this fear, but it's not a depression sad, more of a disappointed one. And I'm scared because I do really want to eat but it's so hard, but it's not the same anxious feelings I've had my entire life. So I'm still sad and scared but in less severe/life ruining ways. This is good, that means there's hope.
This scares me because if I don't figure this out soon I will end up in the hospital and I'm feeling so close to better than I've been in years and a phobia is blocking my progress.
If you go back and read "Scary Statistics" you'll see motivation but after writing that post I relapsed pretty badly. Now it's different because I feel almost free of depression and anxiety and I didn't when I wrote that post.
I'm not saying I'm cured, not by a long shot. I'm just saying this time I feel different than I did a month ago. Screw the deal I made with this stupid devil. I'm going to get out of it no matter what it takes. This devil changed me and that's got to stop.
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