blogging on my way to treatment
i never thought i’d be one of those girls who was a repeat offender in treatment, but here i am, on my way back out to melrose. it’s 7:45 am and i’ve already had one beer - it was free with my southwest ticket. i have a layover in chicago, at midway, and then i’m staying with a friend. possibly going to a ‘recovery night’ party at the emily program with two friends i met my first time at melrose.
this morning was a disaster. i was packing one of my carry-ons and my vera bradley ID holder fell out of the pocket of my backpack, and i ended of leaving it at home. i live about 30 minutes, give or take, from the airport, so at 5:30, with my flight at 6:40, my mom had to rush home and rush back. meanwhile im sitting at the southwest ticket desk having a fucking panic attack. i barely made it onto the plane, but i did succeed in getting my three suitcases under 50 pounds each? so that’s a win for today so far. the flight was very bumpy taking off because it was so overcast and rainy in philly but now that we’re in the air it’s sunny and lovely.
i just….i wanted to be thin. i wanted to prove to insurance that i was worthy of treatment. i didn’t want to feel fat, and yet, even now at my lowest weight, i feel fat all the time. none of my clothes fit, they hang off of me, and don’t even talk to me about wearing jeans because they’re huge on me, and yet i still feel fat. i think i’d feel fat if i was a skeleton, let’s be real here. and so i’m choosing help. i’m choosing life. i’ve been dying of anorexia and diabulimia for 11 and 5 years, respectively, and i’m choosing my life finally. i cried in the car on the way to the airport. i told my mom, ‘i’m tired of dying. it hurts to be dying all the time’ and she told me it hurts to see me dying all the time.
tomorrow begins the first day of the rest of my life and i never want to look back on anorexia or diabulimia.