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Tuesday, August 2, 2016

a new perhaps

It's 12:57 in the morning; I can't sleep; I'm writing a blog post.

Something new has been happening in me within the past month or so. And it's odd, but I think it's good.

6 months ago, in January, I weighed under 100 pounds. After years of struggling with starving myself  and engaging in a constant tug-of-war battle with my body to remain "skinny," I was finally able to start the physical part of recovery. Mentally, spiritually, emotionally - I had been engaging in those forms of healing for about two years. I had to do those things before I could start to eat. To feed and nourish my body, instead of starve it.

It was the hardest thing I have ever done. It was brutal.

Suddenly, I was back at the weight I had been before I had and eating disorder, and then some. 20 pounds some. And I was angry. I was angry because I had done it. I had done what I was supposed to. Eaten. Gained weight. I was supposed to be better. I was supposed to be free, not enslaved to a life that was all about losing weight and calories and being starving and skinny.

I hated the way I looked. I hated the way I felt. I was supposed to be healed, but I felt broken and, more so, I felt like I had lost myself.

It was like that for quite a few months. My body felt too big. I was retaining water. I felt awkward and bad but then, it settled. You see, my body was repairing itself. It swelled, holding water, as my cells received nutrients and life they had been deprived of. A body that was so close to dying was suddenly full - and it took time for it to understand what to do again. But it did it.

And I don't feel big anymore. My body feels like mine again. I don't feel huge. I feel like me. I feel comfortable. I like it. Even though it's bigger. Even though it has fat on it.

I won't lie. Sometimes it's still hard. Yesterday I gave my favorite pants to one of my friends. I can't fit into them. I got them when I weighed 103 pounds, and now I can't get them past my knees. I cried after I gave them to her. I told my mom, I'll never be like that again. I'll always be this way. I'll never be skinny. 

And she hugged me and told me she liked me the way I am. Lately, it's just been me realizing that I have a body, and it's the way it is. Numbers (sizes) have just started being numbers. They don't mean anything about me. Oh, the 4 doesn't fit? Try the 6, grab an 8. They are numbers; they are clothes. They are not me. They don't determine how much my friends love me or if Daniel wants to marry me or not. If I make my brother laugh or how someone treats me. They shouldn't. And they definitely should never make me hate myself.

I'm still learning how to do the whole food thing. How to not eat based on emotions or restrict or binge. How do people do this? I don't know, but I'm trying to figure it all out. I'm trying to eat healthier. After years of not letting myself have pizza or chocolate or chips or pie, it's been hard not to have those things every day all the time. I want to have a strong, healthy body. It's not strong yet. But it's alive. It's full. It's ready to take me as long as life will have me. And that's the important thing.

It's been really amazing to experience this. Below, I am posting something I wrote on my phone from last month. I tend to do this: write notes on my phone, on other's, on whatever I have able.

It's not particularly poetic, but it's remarkable. It's my new perhaps. And I wanted to share it with you, because I never knew or believed that this could happen to me, especially when I was in the middle of anorexia.

But it has. It's happening. And it is a possibility of a future full of so many potentials. So many perhaps.

I just had to start; and now - now I have to keep moving.


July 27th, 10:52 AM

I have started to see myself. 
Truly see this body for what it is. I do not see it as something fat. It has fat on it, just like it has skin. It feels a bit uncomfortable, a bit too much - but it is not something I need to shed or hate or fear. 
It is something I can take care of. But more than that, it is something I can live in. To live that has nothing to do with food. 
It is a living that is laughing and growing and learning and speaking and building things with two hands, and holding things tightly, and singing and loving and being alive. It is sunshine and fire and wind and trees. It's peace and joy and sorrow, and beauty. This body is made to be alive, and I have a mind that is made to be concerned with things other than skinny and food and weight and being trapped. 

It's exciting. And it's a gift that I love. And that I am slowly unwrapping, and turning over in my hands - looking at it from all angles. It is something new, and it may be wonderful. 

It certainly makes me think, and it makes me wonder, and it makes me think: more. 

There's so much more. There's a whole complex world. There's wanting and having and growing and trying. And one more thing: for the first time in my life, my existence, I have the opportunity to be strong. To be something strong. Not a little girl trapped in a bird body, that is delicate and robbed and ribbed and fragile. That is dying and starved, with eyes too big and hands shaking. Not a girl in a normal body who is forced to be small. By words and fists. By being told "what you're feeling is wrong. Be silent. You are mine. You are nothing. You aren't yours."

I can be strong. A strong body, and a strong mind. That is my new perhaps.