I’ve had a few tough days. We spent the weekend in a nice hotel up in the mountains and Jamie (my son) caught a bad cold he still hasn’t been able to get rid of. Which turns him into a daylong grumpy cat. So my nerves are quite frazzled. Also I’m still struggling with all my stupid anxieties even though I’ve already figured out most things about my near future. I’ll start finishing the school year at the end of the month, hopefully pass the final exams with good grades, drop out of school for a year and return in September 2017 to finally graduate the stupid high school. You know, if my life would be and would have always been normal, I’d be done with that crap next year. But because this is my life and it’s not that normal and easy, I’ll need three more school years after my one-year break. And I really need that break. Finishing school at home is too expensive and difficult and I can’t miss Jamie’s first year. The first crawling, words and steps are way too important. Every day, he makes another progress and continuously changes and I can’t miss half of it by spending half the day at school. Not as long as he’s a baby. When I’ll return, he’ll be 22 months old and already a toddler. It will still be terrible for me to be gone half the day from Monday to Friday, but I’ll make it. I just can’t do that as long as he’s so small. He needs me and I need him. Taking a break won’t take away my fears, but it will at least lower them a little bit.
Of course, my future is not the only thing that worries me. I’m still struggling with all that weight, mood and relapse stuff. I know I’m not relapsing, but I’m scared I will. I’m stronger than I’ve ever been in my entire life, but still I feel so fragile sometimes. I don’t say it out loud, but my body starts to terrify me. I’m not overweight, but because I was pregnant and gave birth, I’m definitely not skinny anymore. I wasn’t underweight (not since 2013), but the sex appeal my body used to have is gone. There is fat, stretch marks and everything is plumb, soft and flabby. I don’t tell anyone, but it scares me. I’ve stopped looking into the mirror expect for putting on makeup sometimes and I could cry when I look at my belly. Jamie was worth it, of course, he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, but this is horrible anyway. I’m a whole size bigger, because of my huge boobs sometimes even two sizes. And my weight is so terrible for me (even though I don’t know it because seeing the number on the scale would totally bring the eating disorder back I’ve fought so hard against for years) that I’m scared I might get depressed again. I’m sad sometimes (which I know is perfectly normal), but depression hasn’t hit me in months and the longer I’m able to resist, the more I’m scared it might return. Isn’t that ridiculous? Shouldn’t I get stronger and happier every month while staying away from the disorder? Nothing makes sense anymore when I think about my mental illnesses. I know I’m strong. Stronger than most of the people I’ve met in my life. But will I always be this strong? Will I stay away from the voices, be the mother my son deserves?