Recovery...


It’s taking that step, going out on that limb and to quote Lifehouse, saying “I'm finding my way back to sanity again, though I don't really know what I'm gonna do when I get there.” That’s the biggest fear, figuring out who you are without the illness. Jumping into the dark, unaware of where you may land, but just trusting that it’s a better place than where you’re jumping from. I finally learned the trick here. You don’t know who you are when you get there either. It’s not a concrete thing. Where once, the eating disorder made up what I felt was “me”, now a number of things that are fairly difficult to really come up with comprise who I consider myself to be. I don’t need one part of my life to consume my entire existence. I exist and I go from there. Who I am is constantly evolving and I don’t believe it will ever stop doing so. The point is we fear losing our identity, because we see ourselves as the eating disorder. I sometimes say music is my life. In further thought and all honesty, that statement is an artistic exaggeration. I love music. I will always love music. It helps me get through life. But if I were to lose the ability to make music, I would still be here. I would still breathe, maybe not as easily, but still, I would breathe. When I was sick, my eating disorder was the equivalent to my music. I couldn’t imagine my life, myself, without it. It’s what got me up in the morning. I strove to hate myself to the best of my ability. And one day, when I finally believed that maybe I didn’t deserve such hatred, I couldn’t imagine myself without it. I was determined that this existence was worth the sense of certainty and purpose that came with it, no matter how destructive. I was so afraid of beginning that “journey of self-discovery” all over again. But I’m so glad that I did. It turns out it’s not so bad letting myself evolve after all. And when I finally do, I’ll fly away to another world and the end result won’t really matter. It’s the process that counts.

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