Skinny Boy ✔

Epilogue

Let me tell you one thing I've learned along this journey of mine:
there is hope.

There is hope for recovery.

There is hope that things can get better.

There is hope that things can stop hurting all the time.

There is hope that the hard days will become less ans less frequent, and the good days will be more. The high tides of strife and troubles will soon calm. They may not go away, but they'll no longer flood your life.

When I first decided to tell my story, to fully open up about everything going on in my mind, from the first snapshot to the last bits of closure, I was in my senior year of high school. Yeah, it took me a while to recover. And yeah, it took just as long to feel comfortable with owning up to my struggles.

"I have muscle dysmorphia; I hate my body, and when I look in the mirror, I believe I'm too skinny."

I wasn't able to say that without being suffocated by anxiety until I was almost 18.

That's why I wanted you to read my story.

Because maybe if we can normalize sharing experiences, and stop making them out to be either shameful or glamorous, then more people would be less scared to admit they're struggling. More boys would be willing to admit they're self-conscious.

Walking through a lightly trekked trail with Garret, camera hanging by my side in a satchel, we came upon a stream. Not unusual; there were a few in this neck of the woods. "Well here's the stream we heard earlier," Garret said, leaning down to cup some water in his hands, splashing it on his face. 

I moved my camera bag onto a rock out of the way and copied his actions. Goosebumps ran down my neck as the cold pellets made contact with my skin. Looking up, a few drops stubbornly sticking to my lashes, I took a deep breath. Corners of my mouth fell into a relaxed smile, and my friend and I sat for a minute or two in silence. 

This wasn't just a hike...at least not to me. This marked another exercise-related activity that I was finally able to do without getting carried away by thoughts and misconstrued efforts. 

The first one, back in the summer, was a long walk around a big park. 

The second, which was even more difficult, was that autumn, when I let each negative thought fall with the leaves as they came. I crunched them under my feet, along with every hurtful thought that came upon my path. I trampled them on my first time jogging since the whole marathon fiasco. But this time, dad was by my side, running alongside me. A past medical history of rhabdomyolysis made all of these things much harder, but the lingering aches went away with time. It became a sort of routine, running with dad, and gave me the chance to open up in little bits and snippets on our -once-or-twice-a-month runs. 

And finally, of course, was my hiking. It was the most intense form of exercise that I'd done away from my family. But I knew my limits, and still being weary of where my thoughts may lead me if going at it alone, I knew I needed to bring a friend. The best of friends. 

Not to mention it's safer to not wander the woods alone. 

But throughout all of this recovery, and through all of the small little steps, I still hadn't gained the nerve to tell my story from start to finish. What prompted me was, ironically, another photography class assignment. Just like what started it all, it was pictures that wrapped it all up.

The assignment was to make a collage showing a path you wanted to take in life. What that But as I looked at my reflection in the water, distorted and blurred, it dawned on me what I needed to do, what I needed to show: the path I was walking away from. 

I needed to tell my story. 

I needed to explain what happened to those who only saw one side; to those who didn't understand what they saw. 

I needed to show others that it's okay to open up. What's the point in encouraging others to be vulnerable if you aren't willing to be vulnerable yourself? 

"Well you seem happy," Garret observed. I finally looked away from my reflection in the water. It wasn't a bad staring, just...serenity, I guess. "What? You look like you discovered the answer to the universe. Spill." 

"It's 42," I said, seeing a smirk on his face out of my periphery. "But no, really, things just kind of feel like they make sense. You know what I mean?" 

He looked as puzzled as a Rubik's cube. "Not really, no." 

"I mean, it feels like everything is falling into place. Like everything is a part of a story that's coming together, and my life's making more sense now." 

"That is so cheesy, dude," he laughed, earning a nudge from me. 

"Whatever," I rolled my eyes. "I just think that...my life makes more sense now, and looking back at everything, things are a bit better." 

"I don't think it's life that's changed though," he said. "It's you." 

I raised a brow "I changed?" 

"In a good way, of course." He shoved another palm full of water through his hair. "You've gotten better." 

"Yeah," I smiled, peering down at my distorted reflection again. "I am getting better, aren't I?" 

And I'm gonna keep getting better. I'm not yet done growing.

~

Thanks so much for reading. And thank you to everyone who gave continued support for this book. There have been times when I lost motivation, but you guys kept me going. Thank you so much, I'm truly grateful for all the ways you guys showed Nate and his journey love. 

I'm going to be doing a Q&A before marking the book as complete. 

As for future projects, I'm not too sure yet. I have so many ideas, and so many things wandering through my mind. Maybe I'll add an actual short story that I've been contemplating writing on and off for over a year now. But for now, there are some children in my life that I feel God's leading me to focus on showing love to. 

Feel free to drop your questions here, or in the comments of the next update. It will be the answers, but I'll keep updating.