We can fly.

Reflecting on breaking free from EDs

 I know that later today, a few minutes from now, or a day from now I will regret having written this. I will look at it and laugh at myself for ever having believed it.
But full-bellied pipe-dream or no, I have to write it.

I always have these moments; these few seconds of a random day where all is peaceful and I get a glimmer of "hope", or what most might call "rational thinking". Two seconds later I toss it out with a scoff, wondering how I ever let myself believe that life could exist without self-destruction.

Yet somehow, in this room, pitch-black save for the glow of the laptop screen and the mild blue of the television, I find silence. I lie curled up on my step-father's floor, laying my head on a couch pillow that is somehow still stiff after being around even when my dad was. My fiancee's hand is draped over my shoulder, an inviting warmth against my aching body.

I successfully got down to 101 pounds yesterday. I've also been painfully ill for three days. My intestines are failing on me and I can feel the repercussions of my purging whilst ill. Random stabbing pains in my sides and lower belly remind me of my mental shortcomings.

It is only when all is silent and still and I know that I am loved that I always wind up asking myself "Why do I still do this?"

I know why I have done it. I lost my sense of security, safety, family, and with it all my self-confidence. Since I lost that at an early age, I've developed no real sense of "self" other than my disorders. My EDs have given me some kind of security, safety, and self-confidence. And family can be easily faked.

But now I do have a family. I have Austin, my fiancee. I have a daughter out there in the world. Before, I always knew it was OK for me to kill myself slowly. Not that my other family members wouldn't be sad, I always had enough resentment toward them that I didn't care. Austin has done nothing but help and love me. I can't leave him. The little baby girl I brought into this bright and beautiful world has done nothing but made me wiser and unknowingly love me. I can't leave this world without having known her or making her proud.

I've also found security in Austin, and safety. My main problem now is, self. That is where I run back to the disorder because I am afraid.

It's easy to say "no thanks" to the healthy road. My chair I have woven through years of anorexia and bulimia is very comfortable. I know each and every thread. It's familiar. I know how to sit in it any way I want, and it never complains. So while the world is so confusing with its different types of threads (colours, sizes, shapes), I can be content to sit in my chair where nothing is left to chance.

Then I would be a coward. I would be a slave to fear.

What man has not known fear? No man. We've all seen fear. Walking down the sidewalk, sweetly crooning lies in our ears "Stay your ground, it's safe there. Nothing for you out here." He licks his chapped lips and flashes that crooked grin. Yes, you know fear.

It is the victor who says "Thank you for your interest, but I'll take it from here." and walks with his head high, knowing all the while that Fear will doubt his every step. But even if you have to fake it, you convince yourself you're going to make it.

Nothing that is worth gaining in life is gained without chancing some kind of loss.

When you were ten and your friends taught you how to jump off of the swing, you were afraid of skinning your knees, weren't you? I was. The boy that I liked sat on the swing next to me. I had to impress him. I flung my legs forward and back, forward and back, and I let the air glide past me. I was static; the air was not. When I got high enough, just high enough to where my heart fluttered a bit, I closed my eyes and let go. I knew I could fall and possibly break something. But for a moment, yes, I flew. So did you. I know you did. We landed, you and I. We got a couple scrapes. But look- they're gone. We can jump out of swings.

So maybe we can jump out of these swings we've built. We can let go of our comfortable chairs of self-destruction and actually live. Maybe we can fly.

I know there is more to life than self-loathing and self-destruction.

I felt it tonight.

Reviews

[Alphachad]

OH my god this so good. I had goosebumps as i read the end. Somehow in someway i can feel the same emotions, or must have felt them. This beautifully written and i can't believe I'm only the second person to give it some love. Its a wonderful wonderful story. Well done with this one Aimee :D

[T.S. Rex]

I feel like you tapped a piece of my brain in there and I felt like I was reading some insight in on myself for a moment.

I like to think that there is more to life than the self-destruction, like my pursuit of school and a better life for myself and Dahlia, but then it always seems like I go back to the one place I am safe, and that is in bulimia for me. I don't even feel bad about binging and purging anymore, I love the every disturbing aspect of it. You know how you always here about people purging out of guilt that they lost control and ate everything? I don't purge out of guilt, it's because I literally LOVE the feeling. Like the little drug I can always do and never get arrested for. It's f*****g wild.

Do you ever worry about what your future holds? Like, if this disease will kill you before you become someone? The other day I envisioned myself 10 years in the future, having accomplished my goal of being a published author and a successful nurse...and a bulimic. I feel like I don't fit into the eating disordered category anymore, because I know why I have my disorder, I just don't want to face it and change it. And I don't hate my disorder, it's a part of me that I like and want to keep.

In short, your writing reminded me of how insane I am. lol!
BTW, congrats on 101 lbs! One day I'll weigh that much again! ONE DAY!