I'm finally telling someone
I got home from watching a movie, after a rough week of slipping back into relapse, and had somewhat of a breakthrough while looking at old discord messages. Ones from late last year, that I never replied to because I was so deep in my disorder. It's been so long since those messages were sent, except it hasn't felt like that with how all the days have been blending together from how focused I've been on this one, meaningless goal. I've neglected friendships. Hobbies. Fandoms. I have to apologize to an online friend for the third time for ghosting her because of how distant I've become. Fixing what I've broken is going to be hard, and it's going to take a long time.
But I'm never going to be able to even start if I don't first fix this. So I ate a chocolate egg, and then another, and then a muffin. And I texted my friend that I need to talk to them tomorrow, like I've been meaning to for weeks, but have constantly chickened out of. Except now I can't chicken out. Even though every part of me wants to. Almost every atom in my body in screaming to delete those messages, to retreat, to go back to where I was. But I'm going to fight. Kicking and screaming. Because if anorexia is going to act like a fuck ass toddler than I'm going to beat it at it's own game. I am going to fight it, and I'm not going to let it take anything else from me, because I am alive. And being alive, and living, and experiencing life, is so much more important then some stupid fucking number and stupid fucking fear and goddamn stupid fucking societal pressures.
This is probably really rambly, so I apologize, but I needed to get it out. And if anyone else needs a sign- well, I can't force you to take this as one, but I can say this.
You are alive. There are books to read, and movies to watch, and mountains to climb, and so, so much more. And you can still technically do those while being disordered, but it will never be as fufilling as it will be in a healthy, happy, nourished body.