I’ve decided to recover from anorexia.
I didn’t want to before, but seeing my friends today made me realise just how much this evil illness is making me miss out on.
I was about to be admitted, put into hospital this very afternoon. I was going to be put on a drip. Tube-fed. And it was going to begin today. But then before that, right before, I saw my friends. I was allowed into school just to see them. And as soon as I walked in the door, a crowd of people gathered around me, saying my name, expressing how happy they were to see me. And over half of them don’t even know I have anorexia. They just thought I was physically ill for ages.
After talking with my school counsellor today, I’ve realised what I’m missing out on. There won’t be anything for the teachers to assess me on for my report. There’ll be inside jokes that I won’t know about. There’ll be outings, fun trips, that I can’t go on. I’ll be stuck with anorexia, the evil that drives my every action. Anorexia is just slow suicide. And that’s not what I want anymore.
Maybe in a few months, maybe a year, maybe a decade, I’ll be recovered. And I can dance and leap and twirl ribbons again. I can run at sports day and win at netball. I can swim and be confident again. I can go out with friends and enjoy a burger (as terrifying as that seems) without purging and exercising and beating myself up afterwards. I can do ballet and gymnastics without passing out. I can do anything.
Sure, right now, all of me is screaming at me not to eat the cucumber slice in front of me. But wait. I just ate it. Yep. The first thing inside me for ages. I did it. From now, I’m going to recover. Please, if you can, support me with this and remind me of why I chose this path when I grow doubtful.