Not only did I stopped writing, I also stopped taking care of myself, I thought I had it all figured it out. I didn't and that only made the fall seem more catastrophic. I let myself free fall for months, spiraled out of control and lost everything I worked on for years. Suddenly everything changed for the worst and everything I learned stopped working.
One would ask, if you what was going on, why didn't you ask for help sooner? Pride maybe, shame mostly. Once you've gone through recovery, life seems better, more colorful, everyone seems to be really proud of everything you've accomplished, in the end, they are the ones supporting you through your whole journey.
How was I supposed to tell everyone I failed? I couldn't so, I hid it. I got really good at hiding my problems from everyone. Having gone through it before, I knew what worked, what didn't and manipulation became my second nature. There wasn't anything I couldn't hide from them anymore, at least not that I could think of.
It was during the next two years that things would really start to get out of hand, I lost myself in the scraps of a person that was no longer in me. I couldn't bare anything to change so I tried to keep everything the same and maybe, just maybe, everything would go back to the same normality. It didn't.
Little by little my eating disorder started to grow and become more and more prominent in my life. I was no longer craving food, I'd go days without eating more than one or two meals, others I'd binge. My digestive system was so confused that I bloated, gained weight and felt frumpy all the time. I was no longer in control.
Anxiety would back my eating disorder up, those grew up to be some great friends. On one hand I felt like I could eat the world, on the other I had this little voice telling me that no one was going to respect me being that fat. I deserved nothing, not the love I had, not anything I managed to accomplish through recovery.
It broke me down again, for the second time in my life I felt like I was a failure, like everyone would be better without me. That was August of 2018, almost two years ago. I've been on and off of treatment since then. I've relapsed what feels like a million times, felt suicidal once since then, gone through some of the worst pain in my life but I'm still here, trying and hopefully succeeding once in for all.
This is my new road to recovery, a bumpy, long and exhausting recovery. We will see what it brings now.
Little by little my eating disorder started to grow and become more and more prominent in my life. I was no longer craving food, I'd go days without eating more than one or two meals, others I'd binge. My digestive system was so confused that I bloated, gained weight and felt frumpy all the time. I was no longer in control.
Anxiety would back my eating disorder up, those grew up to be some great friends. On one hand I felt like I could eat the world, on the other I had this little voice telling me that no one was going to respect me being that fat. I deserved nothing, not the love I had, not anything I managed to accomplish through recovery.
It broke me down again, for the second time in my life I felt like I was a failure, like everyone would be better without me. That was August of 2018, almost two years ago. I've been on and off of treatment since then. I've relapsed what feels like a million times, felt suicidal once since then, gone through some of the worst pain in my life but I'm still here, trying and hopefully succeeding once in for all.
This is my new road to recovery, a bumpy, long and exhausting recovery. We will see what it brings now.
Mayte.
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