Ups and downs

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Some things are going really well at the moment. I downloaded an app called ‘Clean Time Counter’ and now know that I haven’t purged in almost 95 hours, which is amazing, and I hope that the app will continue to motivate me to stay strong because I don’t want to have to face the bitter failure, disappointment and embarrassment I will bring upon myself if I have to set the time back again.
So far, it has worked. The pressure is constantly there because nothing else can make me as relaxed and relieved as binging and purging can, but I’m trying my hardest.

Unfortunately, that makes my mood swings worse.
They’ve become a bigger issue over the last few months again and now they’re even worse, and because I can’t talk about them to my family, they assume I’m a moody bitch even though that’s just the only way I can express my moods when I can’t hide them.
But another positive thing is that I haven’t had a panic attack in at least a week, and I’m focusing more on the things that make me happy again. I write stories and play my guitar every day again after I let both these things slip for a very long time, and doing it again makes me feel fulfilled, happy and like I’m good at something.

Furthermore, that also causes my duties to be less important, and I avoid studying as much as possible and often don’t even bother to open the college website to get back to my works for days. And the bigger the gaps between the study sessions become, the more the thought of doing them scares me. When I do things I don’t like very often, they become a part of my daily life I just have to get done (like showering which I despise because of my naked body), but when I avoid them, they fill me with fear again because fears of failures somehow manage to get stronger again in that case.

And if there is something I can’t deal with, then it’s failure. When I’m not capable of fulfilling the expectations I’m holding for myself, the little bit of self-worth I have vanishes completely and is substituted by doubts and hatred.
To keep myself from falling apart, I constantly listen to music, but that’s pretty much the only thing that always holds me together when getting through with my chores.
Of course my son also makes me happy, but because I’m a young single mom, people constantly doubt and criticize me (especially my own mom which really bothers me), and when it’s about my own child, that really upsets me, so being anywhere around other people that might watch me somehow constantly puts some sort of pressure on me.
And it’s rather difficult for me to be genuinely happy when I feel stressed and under so much pressure.

My counselor says I’m making progress and I believe that as well when I look at how insightful, honest, strong and courageous I am, but my mental stability is fragile and can sometimes be wrecked by a triggering advert when I’m about to eat. Not that I’d let people notice, but I’m a mess in my head and often feel overchallenged because of that.
To keep myself up, I focus on my future plans and dreams, positive activities and goals in my life, but I can’t help but suffer from inner breakdowns from time to time causing me to want to cry, rip my lungs out or just stay numb forever.
It’s frustrating how uncertain everything is, and even worse is my still very twisted relationship with both my body and food, and we don’t seem to be able to get along.

It’s all a big chaos inside of me despite looking perfectly fine to those outside of it, and I just want it to be as okay as it seems. I just want to be okay. I just wish it were as easy as talking about it.

If someone offered me a flight to get out and never even come back once, I’d catch it without thinking. This place is hell, and I can’t wait to get everything on my list done and say goodbye, which sadly will still take quite a while. The way everyone judges me and puts me down drives me crazy, but what really bothers me isn’t what they see- I learned not to care about that a long time ago. What wrecks me are the thoughts I create myself.

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Where are you?
And I’m so sorry.
I cannot sleep, I cannot dream tonight.
I need somebody and always
This sick strange darkness
Comes creeping on so haunting every time.

Holding on and letting go

Years ago, I lived in a village where I attempted to commit suicide twice, lost a friend when she killed herself, sank deep into several mental disorders for the first time, was hospitalized for the first couple times and completely lost myself. Today, I went back to this village to see the last friend from this time I’m still holding on to. I’d gone back there before and hadn’t been able to handle it at all which had resulted in a mental breakdown, but I promised myself it would be different this time.
I promised myself I’d make it through.
And guess what?
I did.
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Can’t say it wasn’t hard, though, because it was. I took a train and therefore passed by all those places I’ve tried so hard to forget but couldn’t. There is the school where I was bullied and where I wrote my name on a wall a day before trying to kill myself, the train stations where I thought about throwing myself on the tracks, the spot where I actually almost succeeded, the streets I wandered lost at night, the house where I binged, purged, self-harmed and starved for the first time while living there at the age of eleven and the houses of friends who left me alone when I needed them the most.
I saw the place where I went to die for the first time.
Can you imagine that?
Almost nothing has changed where my life once fell apart. One of my old school buildings where I used to take some classes is gone, and they’ve built several shelters for refugees near the train station, but that’s it and that’s what almost tore me apart- again.
But I swore to myself I’d hold on this time and would not give in to the pain inside of me. When I felt the first tears burning in my eyes like acid, I swallowed hard, lifted my chin, closed my eyes and held on. And I managed to spend all day in this village without falling apart. I kept telling myself I’m different today, a different person living a different life. I’m not weak anymore and I don’t hide anymore either. I’m strong and I know I can make it. Hell, I haven’t recovered, not at all, and I need to admit that I’m afraid I’ll never be able to recover completely, but today I know that there’s always a reason to keep going and nothing is ever so bad that it’s not worth staying strong.
I realized that, no matter how terrible many days have been again lately, I can still get better and there are still good days worth fighting for. I still hate myself and I could cry every time I look into the mirror, but I don’t let that stop me.
I’m different today.
Stronger.
Alive.
I’m a mom, a young woman, recovering and relapsing, strong and independent, I know what and who I want and need and how to get it. I know what’s good for me and what’s not and what’s most important…
Unlike back then, I know when I need to hold on and when it’s smarter to let go.

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Just remember, even your worst days only have 24 hours.

 

You wouldn’t understand, so what’s the use?

Depression sucks. Yeah, I know that’s nothing new. But the worst thing about depression is not the disease itself but that it always comes back. I felt so good for so many months. For the first time, I could honestly answer “I’m fine” when people asked me how I was feeling. But then it happened. I went back to school and fell apart all over again. I don’t want any fucking pity, but it’s just not fair, you know? You fight for years and then you think it’s finally over and you finally get to be happy and then… it’s all gone. And you feel like dying again. There’s this pain inside of me and it won’t go away, regardless of what I do. I try so hard, but it won’t change anything.

I had everything. And lost it all.

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I wish I could just give up. Stop trying. Stop fighting. I feel like shit and all I can do is feel it. I wake up every morning and I get up and get through the day and I’m scared I might collapse the next second because I don’t think I can make it through. And somehow I do because I keep my shit together and don’t show how I feel. Sure, I could tell about my feelings. But nobody would understand, so what’s the use? Depression is so hard to understand because it’s invisible. The other people around you don’t have any proof that you’re actually sick even though you are. And you could tell them about it. I did. But the only reactions I got were pity, dumb questions or how I could even be depressed because my life is s great now. Yeah, thanks, I’m aware of that. I know my life is great. I have almost everything I wanted and I love my family and especially my son more than anything, but I’m still not happy.

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People tell me we just need to BE happy because we’re the ones to choose how we want to feel, but they seem to forget that we’re not happy because we didn’t choose to be but because we’re sick. We all want to be happy, but we somehow can’t. It’s all in my head, I know, but that doesn’t make it any less real. God, I want to be happy more than anything (I mean, who likes feeling like shit?), but all I feel is this hopelessness. I still keep going because of my son, but if he wasn’t here, I’d give up and let the shit in my head take over. I’d let myself drown in it because it’s so much easier and fighting obviously won’t get me anywhere either. I’m not doing this for myself anymore because it looks like I can’t be saved. I know that the only one who can save me is me, but I do everything I can and I still don’t feel better. I use skills, do things that make me happy, try to focus on better stuff, distract myself, spend all of my time with my son , mom and sister and I don’t feel any better. I’m not suicidal or feel like harming myself anymore (the last time was almost two years ago), but I feel like drowning and there’s no way to learn how to swim. Why is there such a thing called depression? Why am I suffering from this disorder? I know it all started with my eating disorder which I developed because my dad has always made me feel like I’ll never be good enough (and even though he’s gone, I still can’t get that pattern out of my head), but WHY? I know people who had to go through much worse stuff and they don’t have any disorders. Why do I have it? And why can’t I recover? My counselor keeps telling me these things take time, but it’s been more than half a decade and I’m tired and sick of it. There is nothing more exhausting, nothing harder than fighting your thoughts. Since the relapse started, I’ve been so extremely tired that I could basically sleep anywhere if I let myself. ‘Normal’ people don’t know what it’s like to fight your own mind 24/7. To feel like you’re losing yourself, to feel trapped in your emptiness.

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To stand in front of the mirror and hate every single inch of yourself and you want to fall on your knees and cry until your throat is sore, but you know that would only make things worse, so you don’t. Instead, you breathe deeply and tell yourself not to let it take over. To stay strong. You’re still alive, right? But can you stay strong? Is it even possible? Just smile, you think. Smile and they’ll think you’re alright. Don’t tell them the truth because they wouldn’t understand. They’d think you’re mad, ungrateful, a bad mom or overreacting, right? So just keep your mouth shut and act like everything is fine. Because it has to be. There’s no other way. Life isn’t fair.

http://weheartit.com/Poizonbite/collections/9949126-cut

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Slipping away

How can I say this without breaking?
How can I say this without taking over?
How can I put it down into words
When it’s almost too much for my soul alone?

Do you know this feeling when you’re with other people and everything is fine and you’re feeling alright and then they leave and you’re sitting there and notice how you fall apart completely? You realize it, but you can’t do anything about it? Can’t stop it? That’s what’s happening to me right now. And the thing is, I know what I could do about it. All those skills and positive activities and that kind of crap they teach you to do and use in the hospitals and loony bins. But to be honest, I just don’t have any energy left to do these things. They tell you to pour your energy into everything you love and be passionate and full of whatever kind of shit, so I poured and poured and poured and now the metaphoric cup is empty. And I don’t know what to do about it. Like I just said, I know how to distract myself, but that doesn’t really change anything. I don’t know what I need to actually change my condition, but maybe it’s just a little break from things. You know, to get back my energy. But there’s no way for me to do that. There’s just too much shit I need to handle, so I wake up every day feeling like I just wanna hide under my bed forever, but I don’t, so instead I get up and get through the day, get things done, smile and go to bed and hope to fall asleep before I fall apart. There’s no other way and no other option left for me. I need to make it through. And sometimes I wanna tell the people I love that I feel like shit, but that’s not gonna change anything. They’ll either treat me like a child or a victim and I’ll drown in their pity, they’ll feel insecure and uncomfortable and won’t know what to do or I’ll get to hear extremely helpful things like ‘Don’t be down in the mouth!’ or ‘It’s just a bad day!’. And they’re right, but that doesn’t change things or help me somehow anyway. So I smile and tell them I’m fine. Makes it easier.
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I love my son so much and I need to make it through- for him. I need to be there for him, be happy for him, recover for him, go to counseling for him, get my shit handled, smile, breathe, do all the shit I don’t want to do, study, focus, go to school, pass the finals, get my degree, never get enough sleep, never relax, put all this pressure on me and just get through everything. Because I don’t have a choice. I want him to be proud of me, be proud of myself, be a good role model, be happy and get the life I’ve always wanted- the life that I deserve after everything I’ve been through. All these years I’ve fought so hard and the effort I put into this struggle- I don’t want it to be a total waste of time. I know I can do this. I just don’t know how. How do you get through the day without falling apart when you feel like there’s nothing left of you? Like you’re empty and hollow?
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I just want this to be over, I want to appreciate my life and myself and stop hating myself (especially my body) so fucking much. I just want to be enough for at least once. People tell me to think positive, but how am I supposed to do that? Believe me, I’ve tried everything. But I still feel like crap on a regular basis. Everything is fine, so why do I feel like losing everything? I’m a good mom, a good person, daughter and student and I’m doing a really great job at recovering from my disorders because I never give up and always keep going (no matter how hard it is), so why do I still feel these emotions I can’t even specify? Why are my disorders always stronger than me? I really don’t wanna be a whiny weak loser, but I can’t deal with this crap in my head.
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I won’t drown again.

I’m relapsing. I cannot deny it anymore. It’s true and though I don’t say it loud and tell people, it’s happening. The thing is: it’s different this time. I have a reason to fight. This is not about me anymore; it’s about my son. He deserves a mother who’s there for him, takes care and loves him unconditionally and not some psycho stuck in her sick mind. I’m not gonna let the disorders win again; not this time. I’m stronger and better than that. It hurts like hell, but I’ll make it through. There is no other fucking way. No way I’m gonna give up. Not. This. Time.

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Down again.

I can’t hold on to me, wonder what’s wrong with me

I thought it was over. I thought it was gone and I was over it. I thought it was alright. But I was so, so wrong. It always comes back and it’s never gone. I’m having the nights again. That kind of nights I was so scared of, that kind of nights that ruined everything. I can feel it in every single bone when it comes and can’t do anything about it. I’m just sitting there on my bed and feel it how I fall apart. Suddenly, I just lose myself completely and break down and there’s the pain inside of me, screaming, aching, trying to kill me. And I feel like fading away all over again. I don’t want this to happen. I don’t want to lose myself again. I want to live, I want to be happy, for god’s sake! After all this shit, I fucking need it! But life’s not fair after all, right? You don’t get what you want. Maybe I don’t deserve it anyway. And I can officially say that depression is back now- only at night, but the nights are the worst. But I won’t officially say anything because I don’t want anyone to know. They wouldn’t understand- nobody would. Not even I understand. It’s never enough, no matter how hard I try.

Here in the darkness I know myself

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A whole new life

These days I’ve had those moments when I had to hold my breath for a second and pinch myself to make sure I was awake. To make sure what was happening was real. Have you ever thought about where you stood right now, right at this moment, a year ago, or even longer? Have you ever realized how much can change in such a period of time? A moment in your life can change everything. Literally. It’s just a second, just a blink, and nothing is the way it was before. I’ve experienced that before when my best friend died and it was like everything fell apart in just this one tiny second, so fragile and short, but still so powerful, and two weeks ago it happened again- but in a positive way.
I’m a mother now. Can you imagine that? Can you, like, you know, realize it? Because I still can’t. That moment, that tiny second, when my son was born, when I heard his first cry, saw him lying there on that towel, wet and bloody as he’d just come out of my body, that changed everything. I’m still the same person I was before November 25 (4:30 AM, to be precise), but somehow I’m also someone else. Before the life changing Wednesday I was this insecure girl, pregnant and feeling kind of lost and lonely in this world, and now it’s like I’ve aged ten years in just one night. I’ve always been more mature than others my age, but this time it’s different. I am a mother now. This feeling is so incredible that it becomes ineffable. Knowing that this little human being in your arms that looks at you with its big dark beautiful eyes is yours is the most beautiful feeling in the world. And the most overwhelming one. Last week I actually cried as I held him because I was so happy I couldn’t take it. That little boy in the crib is mine. My son. My child. What do I feel when I say those words? I can’t describe it. All I can say is that even though I’ve never been more tired and exhausted, I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my entire life. Sometimes I think I don’t even deserve him after all the shit in my life. He’s too good, too innocent, too beautiful, too sweet, charming and adorable.
I know I’ve been a good mother so far, but still I keep doubting what I do all the time. Will I make everything right? Will I be able to give him what he needs, afford him the life he deserves? Will I teach and tell him the right things and keep him from making the same mistakes I’ve made? Will he have what I never had? Will he be able to enjoy a blithe, unburdened youth? Will I be able to protect him from the demons that almost killed me? There’s so much joy and so much fear in my heart at the same time. I’ve never been so scared of failing before. He’s the most beautiful baby boy in the world and he deserves the very best, but will I be able to give it to him? There is so much responsibility weighing on my shoulders right now and I know I can bear it right now, but will it stay this way?
I’m feeling torn apart inside between who I’m becoming and who I was. I’m becoming a good, mature, grown, responsible mother wearing blouses and pumps while there’s still the insecure goth girl in the back of my mind, slowly fading, turning into nothing but a memory. 

Having children truly ends adolescence. We are all either parents or children: responsibility-takers or those who demand from others. – Ben Shapiro

Right now, at this moment, exactly two years ago, I was at a youth center. They called it a therapeutic residential care facility for youths, but that’s not what it was. Right now I was probably cutting myself again, so deep that today, two years later, the scars are still thick, deep, visible and perceptible. And shameful. Back then I was wearing only black (even on lips and eyelids) and stuck in my eating disorder that caused me daily cardiac arrhythmia and black outs, not to forget the depression that made me plan my suicide. And now? I’m sitting here. At home. A new home, with my mother, sister and son. And I’m actually feeling happy and healthy. It’s like a dream. A beautiful dream. Of all the expectations I had when it came to my future, this was so not one of them. I would have never thought I’d actually end up this way and I’m scared everything might fall apart the next second because I might not even deserve this beautiful gift. Even Jamie’s father (I named my son Jamie, btw) promised to support us. HE wants to support us- the guy who didn’t even call or message me ONCE in nine months! I can’t believe that either. 
I cant believe any of the things happening right now. This is just too good after all the shit I’ve experienced. Is this what recovery feels like? Because it’s the damn best feeling I’ve ever had.

Wasted youth

Yeah, I wish I’d been a teen idle
Wish I’d been a prom queen fighting for the title
Instead of being sixteen and burning up a bible
Feeling super suicidal

– Teen Idle (Marina And The Diamonds)

Songs like this one make me think about my teenage years (though it’s actually not my genre because I don’t listen to pop music and such stuff).
If I’m being honest, I didn’t really have something you could call a youth.
I had a childhood, yes, but the way my life was ripped out of my arms afterwards can’t be called teenage years. My eating disorder came into my life when I was ten and I had chronic depression, insomnia and social anxiety by the time I was twelve. Shortly after my thirteenth birthday, I tried to kill myself- twice. My parents got divorced afterwards- and I was even happy about it. The same year, I was admitted to a psychiatry and it was not the last time. Today, I can count five times there and two in a psychosomatic hospital- not to forget the time I spent in the emergency room and the four months in some facility for incurable cases (which is what it was though they would have never called it such a name there) like I seemed to be back then.
Yes, today I am recovering, slowly, but such things take time and I already have progressed so much (no ED or suicidal thoughts or behaviors in 10 months and no self harm in about 16 months or something), but now I’m pregnant and will have a baby before Christmas. Of course I’m totally looking forward to it, my baby is the most important person in my life and I think it’s the best thing that could have ever happened to me, but nobody can doubt it’s too early. I haven’t even finished high school yet. Thanks to the hospitals, I won’t have before 2018.
My youth? About five parties when we had the evening off in the hospital or I was still friends with some junkies who called getting high till they couldn’t spell their names anymore a party.
I’ve accepted the way it is now and in some weird way, it’s never been better, but of course there is also a bitter pill to swallow. The bitter pill called a wasted youth.

The wasted years, the wasted youth
The pretty lies, the ugly truth

Though they’re shallow, unknowing, uneducated and stupid, I’m sort of jealous of the normal teens I see every day. The useless lives they lead give them one thing I’ve never had and will never have: they’re simple, normal, easy and happy.
They go to school from Monday to Friday thinking about their families, friends and exams, spend Friday night in bed with their boyfriends or girlfriends, go shopping or hang around with friends during Saturday, get drunk in the evening with alcoholic beverages they actually aren’t allowed to buy and spend half the Sunday being hungover and the other half studying a little for the upcoming new week.
So simple, so easy, so happy. They make mistakes, usually don’t learn from them either, party and study. That’s it. And this simple kind of happiness those teenage years bring has never been and will never be a part of my life.
What will I tell my unborn son about it one day?
‘Sorry, I was in a nuthouse back then when I should have been an adolescent and then you came’?
I wish Jamie (that’s the name I’ll give my baby) would have taken five more years and I would have had time to do all those average teen things. Away from the disorders right into motherhood- that’s too much in such a short period of time.
I know it’s nobody’s fault and believe me, I certainly do not want compassion or pity from anyone because that makes me feel like a stupid helpless toddler, but I have these regrets deep down anyway. (And the fears of failure and relapses are even worse, but that’s not the topic right now.)
I wish I could change something. But I can’t. The time I could have had is gone and I’ll never get it back, that’s just how it is.

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Lies.

I cried myself to sleep the past two nights. The first night because I realized whenever I talk to my dad, all he tells me is bullshit. A few weeks ago we had our first conversation in years and basically everything he told me turned out to be total crap. It was about him and my mom who broke up in 2012 and got divorced last year. Guess what he told me about that: they only took those steps because of the financial situation. And he went even further: ‘we still love each other. Why do you think neither of us had a new relationship since our breakup? We couldn’t start off with something new because our feelings are still very intense.’ Something like that. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to believe that, so I talked to my mom about it and she came up with the truth: lies. All lies. My mom doesn’t feel shit for him! SHE called the marriage off because SHE didn’t wanna be with him anymore! You may understand why I was mad. I gave him this one chance and all he did was lying to me all over again. And two days ago, the same shit happened all over again when my awesome dad slept over for a night after he had helped us with house renovations and he went upstairs- right to my mom’s bedroom- and I asked him what he wanted there and he told me he was gonna sleep in the same bed with my mom because ‘that was no problem for her’. Of course it was, I fucking talked to her! Firstly, you don’t sleep in a bed with the ex. You just DON’T. Secondly, what the fuck is wrong in his head? Does he seriously believe what he says? If so, how can someone be so blind? Such a jerk? Or why is he always lying to me whenever we talk? I remember why I cut him out of my life for three years. What’s going on right now is one of the reasons why. It hurts to know your own father doesn’t consider it to be necessary to tell his own daughter the truth. Even though I actually promised myself to never let him hurt me again. I’ve wasted way too many tears for this man. 
And I cried yesterday because my mom blames me for everything that went or is going wrong. She doesn’t speak it out loud, but I know she thinks it. And that I’m not sick anymore and just acting like I am or always exaggerating. And the (for me) worst thing is that I’m never allowed to talk about any problems in front of her when I’m not in a damn psychiatric (where I don’t plan to stay even a day ever again) because for her, that means I only focus on the bad stuff. I do NOT only focus on negative things just because I talk about my problems! I was taught I should speak out loud what bothers me in therapy and stop swallowing down everything! I was taught it helps to talk about problems! My mom used to think the same way, but since I got better, she changed her mind. Talking about problems means focusing on bad things now and that means staying in the disorder. Great. So let’s keep swallowing it all down. Like that’s gonna solve it. Like that’s gonna cure me. Everything seems to be my fault. And whatever I do, it’s wrong.
By the way, I spent some quality time with my class in the city where I used to live years ago today because we visited some kind of museum there. 
The last place where I lived before everything fell apart. Where all the people who used to be my friends live. Where 66% of the guys I hooked up with live (I slept with three guys and two live there). Where life was still easy and great. I can’t tell how badly it sucks to be back.

Recovering- for REAL.

I know I haven’t written in a while. I didn’t know what to tell. I was ‘released from custody’ three weeks ago and I’ve been doing pretty good since then- at least mentally. Physically- not really. Lately it’s been hotter than in the desert out here and my pregnant body doesn’t seem to be so happy about it. But hey, I’m still able to get out of my bed and get my shit done every day, so whatever. I’ll get through it. I’m still having those moody ups and downs, but it has already gotten SO MUCH better. Like, seriously. No sudden crying for no reason, no breakdowns because of ridiculous stuff. Just… A mixture of pregnancy and BPD (borderline personality disorder). Right now I realize even though I haven’t written in weeks, I have nothing to say. Nothing spectacular has happened since I left the hospital. I’m actually doing really good. Even better than I had expected it. Hey, it sucks to be pregnant because of all those shitty side affects like weight gain, pains everywhere and such crap, but at least I’ll have a beautiful child afterwards, so let’s do this. My mind seems to be getting better every day while I tell myself to keep going and stay strong. There are those bad days and critical moments, but I know what to do and am always able to snap out of it somehow. I have no idea how I made it here, but now I really am recovering. 

All I can tell you is that the most important part of recovery is wanting it, realizing you deserve it and never, ever stop believing in yourself, your dreams and future. And you must never stop refining yourself.