This Spring, Spring of 2015, marks a decade that I’ve been fully recovered from four years of anorexia nervosa, clinical depression, and suicidal thoughts and tendencies.
I remember attempting suicide at the age of 13. I remember everything about that day. I remember being sixteen and honestly afraid deep down in my gut that I’d have anorexia for the rest of my life and never find happiness or healthiness. I remember being under ninety lbs. but I also remember how I viewed myself in the mirror then, and it was not as a 90 lb. young female.
My depression was so extreme it was hard to get out of bed. I missed so many days of school in high school because I was unable to drag myself out of bed. Music was the only release I found. I was happiest alone, shut up in my room.
I found recovery by my senior year of high school, or by the end of it at least. During the Spring time. Right before graduation.
I’d had a moment sometime late in 2004 in the middle of an afternoon. I can’t remember the day of the week, or the month, or any thing else about that day. But I remember just deciding that I was done. That I was finished. I decided that I no longer wanted to feel depressed and that I no longer wanted to hate myself. I had this tiny voice in the back of my head telling me that if I couldn’t convince myself to truly seek recovery right this instant there was a possibility I’d never seek it. I was scared out of my mind that I’d never have a moment like this again, a moment where I actually felt like I could just choose to get better, and find healthiness.
I’m happy to say that healthiness stuck. My early twenties were a rough and awkward time and I got into a physically and verbally abusive relationship. I did not relapse however, and in my mid-twenties I got away from that relationship and went to massage school.
I have since then found happiness. There are days it’s hard to believe I ever felt so low for days on end, weeks on end, and years on end.
I don’t know how a full decade has passed so quickly, but it has. I can’t say that I don’t ever feel fat, or have a moment where I worry about calories. There are weeks throughout a year when it seems like depression almost has me in its grasp again.
But I’ve been able to stay afloat, and to keep my old demons at bay.
I know it’s a different story for everyone. And that it’s not always just as simple as having a moment and deciding to no longer be unhappy.
My own adventure taught that there wasn’t a light at the end of the tunnel. A decade of recovery has taught me that there never existed a tunnel in the first place.