Hospitalised

This photo is very important to me, because it reminds me - when I am on the verge of total relapse - of the hell I have gone through (on and off, mostly on) for about eight years now. The hell is always in my mind - but not always projected onto my body. This is what I hope to avoid.

 

I took this picture the last time I was in the hospital. I remember how I got there: I was working, as a cashier, and the symptoms which had been plaguing me for weeks became too much. I was so afraid that I would die - my chest hurt, I could hardly stand, my entire body felt like it was leaving me. I got a friend to drive me to the hospital and I admitted myself. In this photo I am bloated from the IV which saved my life (dehydrations kills more quickly than starvation) and when I returned home I (once again) worked hard to claw my way out of the hole I had dug for myself (or rather, my eating disorder had pushed me into). I didn’t want to go back into inpatient again.

 

This is not me at my sickest, or my thinnest. But it is the only one that I have. And sometimes - things like this keeps me going. Because I am so tired of feeling that fear.

 

My worst days in recovery are so much better than my best days as a slave to anorexia.

 

Starving isn’t “Staying Strong”. Sticking with recovery is.

Done