A year ago as of now, for anybody who didn't know me then, I was close to death. I was a few days off having yet another NG tube fitted and I was so unbearably miserable and ill that all I can remember is how I hoped that after every blink my eyes wouldn't find the strength to open again and feeling that I didn't have a single ally, something that was so unfair to everyone walking on eggshells around me. And that's the other thing- I was horrible. I was a huge bitch who thought everyone was out to get her fat. People put up with so bloody much from me. I mean, anyone gets snippy after not eating enough or not feeling well, so with the fact that I wasn't eating anything, I was in agony physically and my mental health was not even a thing, I was just horrible.
The thing is, I knew what to expect. I've been down that road so many times that although I never remember with much clarity, I always remember the pain. I've never given birth, but in a way it sounds like every labour story I've ever heard- you know, you remember that it hurts like hell, but you kind of block it. I know I was miserable, but part of me romanticises it. I miss it. I miss knowing what to expect and how it would feel and how consistently crap everything was. I even miss knowing that every day I'd feel worse. I miss knowing that every day I'd be a bit smaller, so there would be a little less of me to hate.
I miss knowing I was going to die.
Don't get me wrong now, I am not suicidal. Not in the slightest. I haven't felt that way in a long time. What I mean is that I miss the knowing part. Everything was black and white, and I knew where I was going (even if where I thought I was going was going isn't all that desirous now). I wake up now and I don't know how well I'll function, whether it'll be a day where I sleep as much as I can or when I wake up and crack open a notebook and take on the world. I don't know why I miss the being ill part, really, since there were no functional days, but knowing was... reassuring. I have to keep reminding myself that things were so bad that I committed to weight gain. My personal hell. Yes, predictability was reassuring. But that was because I was ill, so being ill was keeping me so. It's a death of a death. A line drawn. Time to move on.