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.
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.


“I’m okay” That’s what you need to hear, isn’t it?

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I never thought it would be so easy to slip back into an eating disorder. Everything was fine during the whole pregnancy and while I was breastfeeding and then… Then they came back, all those thoughts about my body. Small and quiet at first, but then louder and more painful with every single day until I couldn’t resist it anymore. And now, well, I haven’t told anyone yet, but I’m bulimic again. Not nearly as bad as it used to be, actually ridiculous compared to what I went through before my son, but still I binge and purge between five and ten times per week. Like I said, nothing compared to the fifty to hundred times per week I was used to two or three years ago, but yeah, it sucks. And it scares the shit out of me. I know what it did to me once and what it might do to me again and even more important, that it could get worse again.
And the scariest part is telling someone because that would mean admitting that I’m not as strong as I am on the outside and I don’t want anyone to see my weaknesses. It would mean admitting that I have a problem again.
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I don’t know what to do. Whenever I eat, my thoughts start racing and I feel worthless and guilty. After everything I’ve gone through, this is where I end up.
Ah, and I keep thinking about starvation again. Not that I’ll do it, I can’t because I know people will notice. They will because I won’t just stop ‘there’. That’s not how it works. Sure, you think you know how far you can go, where your limit is, where you reach the point when you’ll be like ‘now I’m skinny enough’, but that won’t happen. You’ll never realize it. You’ll set your goal, reach it, tear it down and build it again five pounds lower on the scale, over and over again, without even realizing you’re killing yourself. An eating disorder is basically slow suicide without noticing it.
You believe the lies that one day, you’ll be enough, but that won’t happen. It won’t be enough for the eating disorder until you’re six feet under. So why am I doing this? I know where it gets people and where it got me once, but I do it anyway.
Maybe the idea of accepting my body the way it is now (which is normal and healthy, but not skinny anymore) is even more frightening than the idea of destroying my body all over again. I actually want to accept and love myself the way I am because I know that there’s nothing wrong with me and that self hate is wrong and useless, but I just can’t. Deep down, I’m afraid that accepting things as they are will make me weak, lazy and incapable, so no matter what I do, I can’t get the idea of never being good enough out of my head. I spend the late evenings binging and purging until I’ve got red eyes and a runny nose, hoping that, at some point, I’ll be able to accept things I can’t or I’m not supposed to change.
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But I’ll probably never reach this point. There’s this barrier in my head my dad built the foundations for and I built the rest of it brick by brick over the years and this barrier makes it impossible for me to settle down and just be satisfied. It’s this thing in there that tells me that nothing is ever enough and even if I was able to tear it down, I’d be to scared to do it.
Two days ago, I was told that I’ve passed all of my finals and will graduate at the end of the month (but that’ll be only for 10th grade because I’ve missed a whole school year a couple years ago and because Germany’s school system is far more complicated than the American and to get a real high school diploma I’ll need to apply for college, I’ll have to continue studying from home for four more years – which means I won’t be able to attend college till I’m 21 – in September while my son will be in daycare until noon on weekdays).

Anyway, I’ve taken a huge step and reached a huge goal by graduating from this school already and I actually did a really good job and everyone is proud of me and I was looking forward to being too… But I’m not. I don’t know how much time I’ve spent trying to convince myself that I have every reason to be proud of myself and that I’ve accomplished more than half the people I know who have half the problems I have, but the barrier won’t ever let me be proud of myself because it tells me there’s still something missing. And I keep telling myself I’ll feel this pride after the actual high school diploma and college and stuff, but who am I trying to convince here? It doesn’t matter what I do. I won’t love myself.
So I keep fighting and hoping and until then, I’ll have to deal with feeling worthless. But I’m okay, right? “We’ll just have to act like everything’s fine.” That’s all that matters. I focuse on the positive things and swallow the emptiness that makes me feel like dying inside. Smile, stay strong and don’t give up. There’s no other way.
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In the hardest times we grow the most

>>Nothing’s ever perfect, you know?<<

I’m making it through my finals. I honestly don’t know how because I don’t study at all (tried it a couple times, but I can’t focus) and feel rather shit 24/7 with a smile on my face while I’m getting all of my tasks done. My son is the only reason why I’m even doing this. He’s the good in my life and I need a little good because without it, there’s an awful lot of darkness. But God, I’ve got so much rage inside of me that I don’t have an outlet for. I’d never be violent because that’s strictly against my morals, but something makes me hate everything. Everything. But because I need to find something positive to not lose my mind completely: At least the numbness is not showing at the moment. That’s probably the worst part because it makes me feel so empty, so dead, so hollow, like I’ve lost myself completely. Not that I’d show it, though. Maybe I should become an actress. Hell, I’m good at pretending. I act like I’m just relapsing a little (and even that only in front of the few people I feel kind of close to) even though I’m falling to pieces. And the worst part? Even if there was a way to stop it, I couldn’t.

I’m hurting, hating myself, constantly relapsing, in need of vodka to fall asleep sometimes, sometimes back to the eating disorder I thought I’d defeated a long time ago, and even if someone knew, nobody would bother to do something about it.
You know what the weirdest part is? I have everything you could wish for- my family is whole now (I could still kill my father, but he gladly isn’t a family member anymore), I’m making my way through the final exams, I live at home again, I smile, I have a son whom I love more than anything in the world and still I feel more alone than I’ve ever felt in my entire life. That’s probably the strangest part of all this crap inside of me. One piece of me died and has been replaced by the pain. Nothing but pain. And it makes me so angry. But hey, smile, right? Like nothing ever happened. Sometimes I want to scream that no, I’m not okay, but why bother? What would change?

Such a beautiful masquerade. They say secrets hurt, but it’s the truth what hurts sometimes.
Sure, I keep fighting every day. But I gotta stop lying to myself about things getting better cause they’re not. I’m not a pessimist, I’m just being realistic after spending almost half of my life with mental disorders. Yes, I’ve been fighting like hell every single day to survive and there have been better and worse times, but whenever I felt like I was finally recovering, the next relapse was right around the next corner, waiting to crush me down like a wave all over again. I have lists of things that make me happy, people I love, memories I hold on to, a box filled with positivity (a blue one from IKEA with scented candles, magazines, photos and lots of other great things), but they all just light up single moments. I’m aware that life is made of many moments, one after another, but I can’t spend my energy on making every single one a good one. I’m stronger than I’ve ever been even though I don’t feel like that at all most of the time, but I’m not strong enough for this. I tried so hard and got so far, but in the end it doesn’t even matter.
I had to fall to lose it all, but in the end it doesn’t even matter.

Don’t get too close
It’s dark inside
It’s where my demons hide


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.


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.


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.


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.




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. 

How people with mental disorders are treated


By writing this, I really don’t intend to play the poor misunderstood victim. I hate it when people do that. My intention is firstly, to write down my feelings, secondly, make others feel understood and thirdly, make people without mental disorders understand.
Today I was able to really get into the feeling of being completely misunderstood again.
Did you ever notice that hardly anyone takes mental illnesses seriously?
You would never go to someone with cancer and say ‘come on, you got a great life, so get over it’. You can’t compare these two things? Oh yes, you can. Both are serious disorders and the person with the disorder NEVER chooses or wants it and neither, it can just be turned off. When you have a cold, you also can’t say ‘hey, this is ridiculous, I’ll just stop being sick’. It’s not how it works. Nobody would ever tell a cancer patient it’s not that bad and he should just stop thinking about it because life is actually so great. Nobody tells him he needs to get over it or he doesn’t have the time to be sick now because there are way more important things. Nobody does that.
Of course you have an influence on the disorder. It’s pretty much impossible to recover if you only focus on the sickness, but doesn’t mean it will fade away if you only focus on the positive things in life. It’s. Not. How. It. Works. You can start the recovery by never giving up and always keep going and all these things, but you can’t just flip the switch and be healthy. I was told once ‘you’re just sad. Get out of your room, do something cool and you’ll be okay’, but depression is not sadness. That’s why we say ‘depressed’ instead of ‘sad’. There’s a difference between being sad and depressed. Sadness is a feeling you can get rid of easily, but depression is a sickness that kills people. Why do you think people kill themselves? Because they’re sad? So when you’re sad, you think about throwing yourself in front of the train?
Why do we do anything to help the ALS patients, but tell girls with deadly eating disorders to ‘just eat normally’?
The brain is an organ too. You can die when it’s sick too, it just happens a different way.
Why I’m writing about this is because I had a conversation with my mom today that caused one of those ‘just keep going, don’t cry, don’t fall apart’ moments (guess you know what I mean). I used to think she was joking when she said ‘we won’t have time for any disorders anymore (once the baby will be born)’. Today I figured out: she wasn’t. I told her about my planned discharge from the hospital on July 8th and she said like it was something taken for granted that I wouldn’t be in ambulant therapy afterwards. I’d be healthy then, right? I was seriously shocked. I’ve been in therapies for four years now (three years mostly in hospitals, one only ambulant) and she still has no idea. I thought she got it after all this time. But she didn’t. Maybe I’m expecting too much from ‘normal’ (don’t know how else to say it) people, but can’t I expect people to understand me after a few years? I started to doubt that thought when she said that.
She told me after this therapy, I won’t have time for another one anymore.
Her real words were: you won’t have time to be sick anymore.
These words were like a dagger in my heart. Realizing that after years, my mom still doesn’t have a clue. There will be more important things, she said.
All I wanna do is cry right now because I just can’t take it.
I’m supposed to just get over it after this therapy because I won’t have time to be sick.
I’ll just have to tell myself ‘I’m healthy now. I’ve recovered. I’m okay’ and then I’ll be.
And everything will be fine because we all know I won’t have time to be sick anymore.
Like I chose to be like this. Like I chose to feel like dying every single day.
Like I wanna be sick. Because it’s just such a great feeling.
My mom said I need to focus on the good things and just stop all this sickness crap.
Like I’ll just flip the switch and be fine.
Damn, she has no idea how badly I want that. I told her, but I realized she doesn’t get anything I tell her about my sickness. When a loved person tells you something like this, it’s like a shot in the breast. And right now, the wound is bleeding like shit.

What it’s like with depression

Before I started my therapy in the psychosomatic hospital where I still am right now, I went to school and on one of my last days, we talked about the topic depression. I could have killed everyone in the classroom. Depression is when you’re sad all the time, the teacher explained. And sometimes you don’t feel anything at all. And a student responded, then I have depression too! The class laughed and others agreed with him. Why is depression even an illness?, someone asked. We’re all sad sometimes. And I felt the urge to scream. When I think back, I know I should’ve stood up and tell them what it really means to be suffering from depression. 

I would have said: 
Do you wanna know what it’s like with depression? It’s like drowning. Expect you can see everyone around you breathing. You’re in a huge dark ocean and you’re struggling and struggling so hard, but no matter how hard you try, you just can’t reach the surface. You cannot swim. And while you’re drowning, you try to scream, but you can’t because only water fills your lungs. And you’re suffering down there and nobody can see anything. They just see the ocean’s still surface. Not what lies underneath. When you’re suffering from depression, it’s not just sadness. That’s not what it feels like. It’s living with a constant pain, the water in the ocean, that pulls you down every single day. And you try so hard, but you just can’t fight it. Sometimes you think it gets better, but it just takes a break. And then it comes back and it crashes down like a wave and makes you lose the floor under your feet. You can take pills and numb the pain, but it won’t fade away. 

But I couldn’t. I just sat there, dying inside.

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Fear of failure

You know, I have a very concrete plan of my future. I’m a planning person.
One of those people who can’t work without knowing what they’re doing it for. One of those people who can’t struggle without knowing the finish line.
I can’t live without knowing what I’m fighting for.
So I planned my future very detailed. High school graduation in 2016 (now 2018 because of all the stupid psychiatries and that stuff) and starting college fall 2016 (now 2018) or spring 2017 (now 2019). A good college, state doesn’t matter (just not Texas, Alaska or Hawaii), tuition/ tax/ whatever it’s called when it comes to college with room costs and that stuff no chance higher than 25,000 per year, if possible less than 20,000. Elementary school teaching. And then? Finding a job as a elementary school teacher in some nice city and start a family once I’ve found real love.
That’s the plan, but I feel like it’s all starting to fall apart even though there’s still so much time left. It’s just not enough.
I’m so incredibly fucking scared my plan won’t work out. There’s no plan B, just some stupid dreams like getting a scholarship or becoming an FBI agent or a super star.
But no alternative to what I’ve planned. I can’t imagine changing it.
But now?
I’m still in therapy, pregnant and without any money. So what am I gonna do?
I really am looking forward to childbirth, but I’m scared of the life I’ll lead then.
I’m scared of failing, not being good enough, not being a good mother.
And even though that’s hard to say because I feel like I’m insulting my child, I’m scared I’ll fuck up my future because of having a child. I’m scared motherhood might ruin all my chances.
I know there are plenty of colleges with child program for young parents, but that’s fucking expensive and I don’t have the money and I don’t even know if it’s so easy to get into such a program at college. I don’t even know if any college will ever want me, and now with a child? And what if I’ll find a college, but then I’ll fuck it up by having bad grades or not enough points of whatever?
What if I won’t get my degree? And I’ll have spent thousands of dollars I don’t even have for nothing? Or I won’t even be able to attend college cuz I won’t find a job and the necessary support to pay it?
And even worse- what if I won’t even be able to take these steps cuz I won’t make my high school graduation? What if it will all be too much for me and in the worst case scenario, I’ll break down and have to go into another hospital? What will happen then?
I’ll be the worst mom ever. Will I be that?
I really wanna do this, but I don’t know if I can. There are so many possible fails and what ifs. What if one of them will catch me? What if I’ll fail? What will be then?
I wanna become a good mother. I wanna make it through.
But am I capable of all this? Is it even possible for me?
Can I do this? Or will I fail?
I’m so scared.
Nobody believes in me. Nobody ever did. I used to not care about that, but now I do.
I feel so stupid for thinking I’ll make any of this. Everybody says I won’t make it, so why should I anyway? How am I supposed to make any of this? HOW?


What has changed since the last time?

I’m back in the psychosomatic hospital (since Wednesday). 

Almost nothing has changed in here. Just the food got better and some therapists were replaced by new ones. I feel like the only thing that was really changed over the past year is me. So much about me has changed since February 2014 (when I got here for the first time). What the people around me notice, of course, is my symptomatic. When I came here, I used to purge ten times per day. I seriously could never imagine a day without it. It was such an important part of my life and now it’s just gone.
The people here asked me what it’s like without the eating disorder because they think the same way they used to. I couldn’t answer honestly because I don’t even know how I actually got rid of the shit. It’s still in my diagnosis, but no longer in my life. Of course the thoughts are still there. They’re getting quieter time by time, but they’re never really gone. There’s always a risk to relapse. But now I now what it means to have an ED. And I know that it will never ever give you what you want. All it wants is your life. It just wants to destroy and kill you and then leave you behind like a piece of trash.
And I feel to precious for that. Also I have a responsibility now to fulfill. I’ll be a mom in November and in my opinion, it’s a mother’s duty to eat healthy as long as the child’s body needs her (you know, the pregnancy and the year afterwards when you give the breast). No matter how sick you are, if you decided to keep the kid, you need to take care of it and always look after it before you look after yourself.
A child needs a mother, a good one. Not one who starves, purges or harms herself.
Of course I know these things are part of illnesses because I’ve had them all, but as a mother you are irresponsible if you listen to a disorder instead of listening to your child and what it needs.
But no one believes me I think this way. They all think I still listen to the eating disorder. I think they think I’m a bad mom. I’m still sitting on a table with all the anorexics and I’m being watched by a therapist during every single meal, no matter how often I tell them I don’t need the shit because I do eat normal and healthy. But they always think they know you better than you do. Which is bullshit.
When I got here, I seriously planned on killing myself. I already knew how to do it. The two suicide attempts I’ve done once (2012) were just two slip-ups, but this time I’d make it right. Today I don’t wanna die anymore. I don’t wanna die inside just to breathe in. I’m tired of feeling so numb. I wanna live, wanna recover, wanna make it through.
Also I stopped self harming. The last time I did it was exactly one year ago and I honestly can’t imagine anymore to ever do that again. Looking at my still extremely deep and visible scars makes me feel disgusted. A blade across my skin? Gives me the creeps today. Weird, isn’t it? All these things that seem so sick to me today once were part of my daily life. Very important ones, actually.
Still sometimes I feel like I’m stuck in the person I used to be.
My mood still goes up and down and I can’t control my feelings. When I’m mad at someone, I imagine tearing him apart like in one of the worst horror movies, when I’m sad I feel like dying, when someone disappoints me with a little thing I wanna cry for hours and when I’m happy it’s like I’m driving crazy. And when I miss Leo, I feel like a part of me has been ripped apart when she died and now one half of my heart is missing. I’ve been trying to replace it. I’ve had some guys in my bed and in my life, had three relationships during the past year, but they were all assholes that just wasted my time and cheered up my genitals.
I’m still searching for the perfect guy, but I think he doesn’t exist.
I think there is the love of my life somewhere even though I’d never tell someone that because I more act like someone who’s always strong and independent- which I am, but still I want someone else. I want a love that consumes me, passion, adventure, a little danger. I want someone who makes me feel glad that I’m alive. A love I’d die for.
He is somewhere, but how am I supposed to find him? I don’t believe in destiny.
I think it’s a stupid excuse for losers who are not able to make things happen.
Wow, I kinda lost the topic. Let’s go back- to me and the illnesses. The reasons why I’m here. I still hate my body. There is the most beautiful thing in the world inside of me, but the rest is still ugly like shit in my opinion. I’ve never met someone who once had an ED and is now able to love the own body in real life. It’s my biggest goal, but I don’t have such high hopes I’m able to reach it. Still the wish is in the back of my mind and sometimes, just sometimes, makes me cry at night.
So many wishes, so many dreams.
I feel like crying right now and don’t even know why. I’m just so tired, tired of everything. And most of all: of myself. It’s all so exhausting. I just want it to be November already. Not that it’s gonna be easier then, but better.