Last year in September I had started my recovery.
I had attempted recovery so many times. Sometimes it had lasted for a day, sometimes for a couple of months, but that September morning I knew – I’M DONE with my ED FOR GOOD.
The 29th of September, 2010 I woke up, looked around my messy kitchen – I had a huge b/p party the previous night, and I just wanted it all to stop. I was done with trying to be model thin, done with spending money on things that went down the toilet, done with having no time for my friends, family and BF (cause it was all spent up on b/p sessions), done with hiding and lying and trying to be “fake” happy all the time. I was completely and utterly TIRED and WORN OUT in trying to be, what my mind perceived as, beautiful.
I just wanted to stop exhausting myself in trying to be some unrealistic ideal.
That day was great.
The other were too. Some of them better, some of them worse. My bulimic mind was healing and I was ecstatic to LIVE MY LIFE.
Up until one day in June. By that time my cat had been missing for a week… (to be continued :))