Things are becoming a bit of a mess. I'm angry. I'm constantly angry and I don't know why. Maybe it was because when weight loss and self harm still felt like a safety net, I knew I could fall. Now the net has gone, there are no options but to keep driving, keep pushing, and to end every day vowing the next day will be better. Maybe it's just recovery, or nostalgia for a terrible past that I feel I deserve. Every relapse is like going back to bed with an abusive partner, one who has ripped your sanity and your health and your life apart. And I can't keep doing that and expecting to survive, whilst praying I don't. It's not a lifestyle, it's the very opposite; a gruesome death.
I had a lovely Christmas- my family are so incredible- and I'm going home again tomorrow for a few days, and so I don't want to leave 2014 with negativity, but it hasn't been the greatest of years. Next year, next year, next year. I don't want to be bitter or have resentment or to pass responsibility or anything, but I need to convince myself that a whole year can be a blip, a whole lifetime can be a mess, but there is always a chance to start anew. Every day you breathe is a fresh start, but every year you survive is a true beginning.
As lovely as Christmas was, there were always the reminders of what I've done to myself. The fact that I have to use crutches because my years of self-abuse are taking their toll on my joints. Having to leave our family's Christmas day behind to go home and sleep because of the pain. Being exhausted constantly from the sleepers my body is addicted to, and from trying not to take them. Having to leave a party early, to get back to hospital for the time dictated to me. It all felt like I had a flashing sign above my head, telling of my past, my present, and the future I need to build.
I'm 24 years behind everyone I know who is my age, whilst feeling ten times older than that, in terms of life experience. I don't think that makes sense- or any of this does- but I don't know how else to express it.