Previously known as The Accident
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She is beautiful. So fucking beautiful. She is a star and I would become an astronomer for her and I would study for the rest of my life and I would bleed, sweat and cry day and night just so I can underst...
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Life isn't great. I won't necessarily say it's bad, but it's not the best. I recently got out of the hospital and I've already started with recovery, but on my terms. These terms that I've put are that I don't want a therapist and I don't want to go to a clinic. I want to recover in my own home and my own pace. Indra agreed and is happy as long as I recover.
It is day one of recovery. I usually don't eat breakfast in the morning and I haven't in years, but today we are having Cheerios with soy milk. I chose this milk because I know that I'm not afraid to drink the calories.
I can't even remember what Cheerios taste like. I have my head in my hands as I take slow and steady breaths. "You don't have to eat the entire thing," Indra reassures me as I sit and think, trying my hardest not to count the calorie amount. I slowly pick up the spoon. Looking at the five Cheerios. "I'm trying."
"I know you are." She smiles a little and she looks so damn beautiful when she does. A bright light. So pure. So energetic. A breath of fresh air.
I finally let out a deep breath, taking a bite and all the thoughts begin.
You're undeserving. Why would you eat this? A hundred and seventy-four calories. Go to the gym. Throw it up. Get rid of it. You need to die.
She screams with joy, snapping me out of my thoughts. "You had a bite!" She stands up, kissing my cheek. "I'm so proud of you!" She kisses my cheek again. I push my glasses up as she ruffles my hair. "That's a step, right?" She asks me, sitting back down next to me as I shrug a single shoulder.
"It tastes good," I tell her, taking another bite. Gosh, I forgot what this tastes like.
"I'm so proud of you."
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I wake up every morning and I think about everything I ate the day before knowing that I have to do this again if I want to get better.
Recovery is like an old familiar friend. Usually when I begin recovery, I always start slow. A simple breakfast, a small snack, sometimes I skip dinner which reminds me of my other old familiar friend... relapse. I remember it being bad, but I always go back.
When I want to relapse it's small intrusive thought. "I need to gain control," but then it goes away when my eyes land on a croissant. When I actually relapse, it completely hits me and becomes my everything. It's who I am, I'm nothing without it.
I always look the same during my worst times, smiling, health freak and pretending I'm unaffected by it. I start to hate myself to the point that I'd much rather be dead than gain even half a pound.
There was a point in my life where I believed I recovered which was during my senior year of high school. I gained about twenty-five pounds and I had stretch marks on my hips, arms and stomach which bothered me, but not as much as it bothers me now. I honestly don't know what started this whole thing. My entire upbringing was good.
