jamumgaye-blog

[jamumgaye-blog]

I have struggled with an0r3xia since I was about 11 years old. One thing she convinced me was that once I was at my ugw, everything would be okay. I would be beautiful, I would be worthy, I would be perfect. It didn't matter what was going on because at least I would be sklnny. I did everything I could; severe restriction, exercise, dieting, laxatives, diuretics, the blogs, the thinspo, everything. Eventually I turned to something far worse. My weight dropped fast. I didn't even see it. But it felt so good. It felt so good until it didn't. Until I was constantly weak, tired, and angry. Those things are romanticized sometimes in these blogs. But I'll tell you some things they didn't warn me about. They didn't warn me about the way my skin changed. The dryness. The acne. The way I turned pale as a ghost. The way I couldn't focus. I couldn't retain information. The way I felt like a f*ck*ng id*ot because I couldn't follow a conversation or think straight. The way I constantly tripped over my words because my brain started eating itself. They never warned me about how isolating it was. How I would have panic attacks out with friends because we were at a restaurant. The way I became a liar and a manipulator to stay where I was. The obsession that controlled everything I did. The way my heart didn't work right anymore. The way I ended up in the hospital because I couldn't see and had severe chest pain. The way I wouldn't sh*t for weeks and would wake up with the worst stomach pain as a result. The way it destroyed me. They never told me that every 52 minutes, someone dies from 3ds. They never told me that even when I got to my ugw, I would still see myself the same. I wouldn't see the loss. My BD would be so bad I would think I was still fVt (even though I never was). They never told me that I would look at myself and realize that I would never be satisfied. Nothing would ever be enough. They never told me what it would be like when I backed myself into a corner and the only options were death or treatment. They never told me what it would be like to go through the misery of the re-feeding process. How awful it would be to feel constantly stuffed by eating a normal amount. How I would never feel hungry but have to eat anyway. How nothing, NOTHING tastes good anymore. How the joy of living has been ripped away. How nothing ever sounds good and some days feel like panic fueled distress just thinking of eating. How I would sob over a meal. How embarrassing it would be to have to go through it around other people. How horrific it would be to involuntarily vomit because my body legitimately couldn't handle the amount I had to intake. How terrifying it would be to see some of the other struggling people in treatment. How traumatic that in itself would be. And how depressing it is to face the fact that she lied to me, yet I still feed her sometimes. Recovery is up and down and all over the place, and I am doing worlds better now but it's so difficult. If I knew then what I know now I would've been kinder to myself. I would've told her to stfu. To those reading, know that this is what you're getting yourself into. Be kind to yourself. You are worthy. You are deserving. And there is nothing wrong with you. I'm grateful you're alive.