If you'd have told me a year ago exactly what 2010 would entail, I'd have assured you that I would not survive it. I'd have promised you, I'd have looked you in the eye and sworn until I was blue in the face that my destruction, my hideous, self-inflicted, rotten and diseased death, would have been inevitable. I'd maybe have laughed about exactly how inevitable it would have been and no doubt I'd have told you exactly how it would come about. Which of my tested techniques would be chosen. I'd have taken out the wad of suicide notes that I had prepared (because past experience had taught me that there is no beauty, no dignity, in attempts and so, undoubtedly, so beauty in death. No beauty in pills and blood and tears; no beauty in the act, the discovery, the hospitalisations and demands, and definitely no beauty to put on paper, to express all that has gone before and will come after) and I'd have been utterly cold to the idea of it.
For me to sit here and tell you that, quite honestly, I am happy to be alive, to have more than survived it... Well. Actually, I need to sit for a minute myself to take that in. I keep saying things about myself and then realising that they're not true at all, not any longer. I won't go out of my way to avoid conflict- if you are wrong or you are hurting me or somebody else, I'll do all I can stop you. Even if I didn't have my boyfriend, I would not jump into bed with you, just because I'm amazed by your attention. You know, I don't hate myself. I DO NOT HATE MYSELF. I deserve to be alive. More than that, I deserve to live. To be happy. To be healthy.
That's what 2010 entailed, that you could never have told me. You could never have explained the effects of all that happened. You could never have told me that everything would change, my entire way of thinking would change, overnight. Almost literally. You could never have told me that I could get so low and climb so far up. I survived 2010 and I will never be able to look back at all the pain and the difficulty of it with anything other than positivity. The hardest year of my life; the year with most hospital admissions; the year I skated with death the most; the year with most time spent listless, hungry, bleeding, crying, hysterical, terrified, burning... has been the best year of life. Because it's the year I learnt to live.
That there is no worth in a hunger strike without a cause. Bones are beautiful- as a part of the most beautiful thing of all, a living body- but so is fat and skin and flesh. There is nothing more valuable than health or happiness, and each second not spent fighting for either or both, with all you are, is like throwing another handful of money onto a bonfire. The number on the scale is irrelevant. The size in the clothes matters only as far as finding a fit.
I'm happy. Honestly, I'm finally happy.