GROWiNG UP, GROWiNG DOWN?

I decide it is time. I look in the mirror in the bathroom of my college dorm, and decide it is time.
I am a novelty, even to myself. As I try to avoid the stars that are flickering in front of my eyes, I come to the conclusion that there is no way around the dizziness and pain anymore. Yes, this is what it has come to be; this is what my reflection is now - no reflection at all. It has become a more and more frequent thing; not seeing myself and having to listen to other people telling me what they see.
I plant my long, bony fingers on my cheekbones, and stretch back the fleshy skin that's covering them. I move my hands to my collarbones, and dig my fingernails into my skin, as if holding a steering wheel. I close my eyes; it feels so good. My mind and my hands travel down to my hips. I make two fists and pound on the pointiness of my hipbones. I swallow. I feel so proud, yet so disgusted. I feel my bones sticking out, poking through my skin, but have gotten used to that feeling, and so I dismiss it; I can always be thinner, I can never be too thin. But as with everything else, I dismiss the thoughts before I get too much into them. I think I know the answer already.

I sit on the floor, thinking of Angelina Jolie and Keira Knightley; did/do they never go through what I'm going through? I'm not nearly as skinny as they are, not nearly as beautiful. Maybe my body is still getting used to this feeling of emptiness.

I still sit on the bathroom floor, with my head between my knees now. Is this what it is like to grow up? I wonder. I think I know the answer already.

I lift my head, call my roommate. She's not there. I sigh and call out for my suitemate, and hear her rush to the bathroom. She opens the door and stares at my naked, repulsive body, and says:Ohh... Dear, I never thought it was this bad. She sits down and holds my massive tininess. What happened? she asks carefully. And for the first time in months, I cry. I tell her,- I tell her about the hiding, the sneaking, the lying. She makes it seem alright; she doesn't seem to blame me at all. It's okay, she says. But I can't stop crying. All the way to the hospital, I cry. All the way to the eating disorder clinic, I cry. But it is time. It is time for me to radically change.

In Middle School, I started to split my cookies in half. I said no -NO!- to seconds; didn't finish my firsts.
In High School, I had an appetite to act, dance, sing, make love, and taste, always saying no -NO!- to the latter.
The food in front of me, all food, but especially the food that was prepared by me, turned into an altar of resistance, of discipline. It didn't last long for me not to feel anything anymore. I was so lonely and anxious. It was easy not to eat. It was at least a lot easier to feel hungry than to feel any of the painful emotions that I would feel if I would eat.

After weeks, months, years, I allow myself to eat. After all this time, probably even longer than I am now semi-willing to recognise, of calculated portions and predetermined meal planning, I do finally allow myself to eat. And it tastes. Unbearably bad.

I realise that this is why I stopped eating. I realise that my tastebuds didn't want to go through the strenuous pain of the action of eating anymore. I realise that this is why I purged to begin with: my stomach couldn't tolerate something this gross and repulsive any longer., And then I stop. I stop my thoughts and think to myself: Really, Ed? Are you really trying to manipulate me now? Are you really trying with all you have to convince me that that is where you came from? Really?
I feel sick to my stomach.

I go outside to get some fresh air. I realise that it wasn't the taste of the food, nor the action of eating - it was the action of not eating, and the combined feeling of emptiness and numbness, that made Ed come to life.
I am heartbroken.

I go back inside and feel everyone's gaze on my growing stomach, arms, and legs. I feel like I'm about to...
I purge. Not voluntarily, but I purge. I am confused, heartbroken.
My body should love me for getting renourished, I think. But instead, it hates me, just like how Ed hates me and has hated me, for all of his existence. Just like how I hate myself.

What, what am I doing? What have I done to myself? And as I think these things, my body spasms forward, "I collapse to the ground, and I purge again. In all my sins, I purge.
Is this what it means to grow up? Being on the brink of breaking up with yourself by obsessing over yourself? By buying clothes 2 sizes too small as a motivator to lose weight? What does it mean, to grow up? Losing passions, energy, life, friends? Oneself? Can we grow down?
If yes, then what defines us? The empty pit in our stomachs? Our attitudes, our lifestyles, our destinies? Our pain? Our disease? My disease? I don't know.

I only know that I can't feel much more now, but what I feel more, is what 'normal' people would call 'happiness', I think. I look in the mirror in the bathroom at the ED clinic, and I see myself. I see myself, and with that, I see a happier person than ever before.

A MiRROR, DARKLY

Living is dreaming. The stakes are just a little higher.

-Chris Lazariuk

A MiRROR, DARKLY

The only difference between reality and fantasy is that we get to wake up from one of them. The fun part is choosing which to wake up from.

-Chris Lazariuk

MY JOURNEY iN THE SUN.

I see myself on a road. I keep going and going. And going. The road I was taking before, I found steady, safe.. Helpful. It was like sledding down a hill; the adrenaline rush one of the greatest I've ever had. I went faster and faster as time progressed and I seemed unaware that every slope has to stop at some point.
But it did. It stopped and I crashed and burned. I realised I was sledding, but it would be safer to walk, maybe. So I walked. And walked and walked. And walked. Then I started to walk a little faster, I started to run. I got out of breath and stopped running, stopped walking, stopped with everything altogether. I wasn't going anywhere anymore; I didn't move at all from my safety spot; it had never felt SO good to just... Stop. And not do anything.
One day I woke up and decided that my journey couldn't have 'just ended'. I realised that nobody's journey should 'just end', so that counts mine as well. I picked myself up and made it; the longest journey I'd ever made, and am still making. I made it to a place where I didn't have to move, wasn't allowed to move even, to continue my journey. Klarman.
It allowed me to make connections between myself, my eating disorders, my treatment, my RECOVERY, and the road I have been on for all of my life.
It's NOT just a road, it's also a change of seasons, a change of heart. It's winter now, the road is slippery. But one day, spring will come, and the ice under my feet will melt under the sun.
It might become slippery again as winter settles back in, but that sun, that warm, comforting sun, will always - ALWAYS - come back out.
Here comes the sun!

i LOVE YOU AS MUCH AS i CAN

There are things in life that we do not foresee. Things we do not wish upon anybody - even the thought of them merely knowing that you went through one of those things is something that you do not want the other person to experience, so you keep it a secret. A deep, dark secret, that becomes harder and harder to delve up as time progresses.

I have been through various of these things. And I know that I am not the only one who went through these things, but that doesn't make me feel any less guilty, ashamed or disgusted.

Several times now have I heard that you have to love yourself in order to love those around you - those who try to love you, over and over again. Is this true? I kept asking myself that question on a day-to-day basis. Well, I thought a few days back, it might not be. But it might as well be very true after all. So why not at least try to love oneself?

Being in an eating disorder clinic in Massachusetts has taught me a lot over the course of the past month and a half. I feel like I already like myself a lot better than I did before, even though I can't quite say that I love myself yet. I am in the process of loving myself, for the sake of being able to return the love that I receive from those around me. The love that I couldn't see (hence, accept) all this time.
The fact that I realise all of this, already says a lot, I think.

I try to look at this process on a day-to-day basis, just like I asked myself if the aforementioned statement was true on a day-to-day basis.
And you know what?

It might be true.
It might absolutely be true.