...A little over a year later and I still don't know what to say. I'm writing on a different account, and under a different fake name because as it turns out it's impossible to stay anonymous forever. I remember some of you, others are new. I'm fairly sure no one would remember me, though I felt quite close to many of you at one point.
I want to be able to tell you I'm better. I want to. Really, I am better. Much better. I eat when I'm hungry, and I feel little guilt. It kills me that no one who has suffered from an eating disorder can honestly ever say they are one-hundred percent cured, that there are days that go by that they aren't tempted to go back, that they never make a conscious decision to not eat because they're sad, or anxious, or feel like they ate too much the day before. I want to be there. But that place just doesn't exist.
I'm living two states away from the little town that almost killed me, with an amazing man that I'm madly in love with, that I want to spend the rest of my life with. I have a job, and I plan to go to school soon, and I feel lucky that even with all the mistakes I made things are still able to go right for me. I am so lucky.
I guess what I'm hoping to accomplish here is to prove to myself that there is life after recovery. That my ED was not who I was, just something I suffered from that I let define myself when I shouldn't have. Sometimes, it's hard to convince myself I am making the right decision, even though I'm in better shape than I've even been, even though I feel better than I've felt in four years. I want to prove that I still have plenty to say.
I eat CAKE. I drink soda. I eat over 1000 calories a day, and I'm alive anyway. Who knew?
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