Birthdays have always been quite anticlimactic in my life. I haven't had any bad birthdays by any means, but I was always choosing between my mom and dad's, or between my school friends and gymnastics friends.
I feel strange today. I'm nineteen. Part of me thinks I've made it. I didn't know if I was going to make it to my eighteenth birthday.. And I was just looking forward to leaving pediatric ED treatment.
It's been over a year since I last tried to kill myself. It's been a solid couple months since my last overdose as well if I'm remembering correctly. I've made it. I still have some scars, I still skip some meals, and I still spend time with my head in the toilet. But I'm better. And I'm ready to keep on getting better.
I'd like to think this will be the year I recover from my eating disorder. The idea of that scares me a lot though. Picturing myself going through my forth year of university without this crutch is too much. If like to get better though, skip less meals, enjoy unplanned trips, and binge and purge once a week, not twice a day. For now I'll keep on working towards that.
I'm on the train home now, I was just at a baseball game with my dad's side of the family. I'm going to go to the liquor store and pick up some booze, and have a good night. I'll go easy on the alcohol, don't worry. I'm not a huge drinker and I fall asleep pretty quickly anyways.
Love you all 💖