**I wrote this letter 3 years ago now. That was the first time that I open and honestly “came out” about my struggles with Bulimia. It had been something that I had disclosed casually to a handful of individuals over the years but the extent of what I had experienced was something that hadn’t come to light for over six years. I am choosing to re-post this because as I continue to heal and find purpose within my life, it’s important for me not to forget about those who haven’t yet done so.
The conversation isn’t over. Health, happiness and hope ARE real but we can never close the door on conversation. So here I am, here’s my story and the purpose I have gained from the years filled with pain.
I have been battling
to write these words and to share my story for awhile now, but more and more I am beginning to believe that our struggles are meant to be shared and our triumphs are meant to inspire.
Before I begin, I want to offer my sincere apologies to my loved ones who will read this and feel shocked, or even worse, guilt for not seeing any signs. But please, I beg of you, don’t! I never for a second blame anyone for who I am or the burden that this disease has caused. Nor am I writing this in search of any kind of sympathy. In complete opposition actually, I am writing this to offer hope and encourage a conversation. One that for the past six years I have longed to have. To converse. To honestly converse. So here I am, starting the conversation that I should have had so many years ago…
Six years of masked pain. Of mirrors reflecting a young girl that appeared to have it all together. Six years of hidden secrets, locking myself away, purging the pain and flushing away the tears that rolled down my face. Six years of empty promises to myself that “this time would be the last”. Six years of staring at the bottom of a white seat more often than into the eyes of people who I had completely fooled. For six long years.
My journey to recover was just that, a journey. I don’t remember the exact date, and truthfully, putting a date on it would make it seem too easy. Like suddenly, all of the wounds would be healed and I would begin anew. That was not and will never be the case. It wasn’t that easy.
I’d be lying
if I told you that I’ve buried my worst demons entirely. Yes, I am a survivor. Yes, I am a fighter. But I am also a human and this is a disease. An eating disorder, like alcohol or drugs is an addiction that no one should ever take lightly. I can accept the fact that this will always be apart of me and my story. I’ve accepted that each day will welcome with it a new set of challenges. However, I refuse to accept giving up on myself or anyone that treads these same murky waters. I will not be a quitter nor will I go back to the life I once lived. I promise to look back on the hard days and cherish the good ones even more because of them.
I can’t promise you a story book ending because I haven’t quite made it there yet. And frankly, maybe I never will. Maybe this story, and these struggles aren’t meant to end. I can promise, however, hope. Hope that your story can and will get better (mine surely has). I promise that there will be more light days than there are dark. I too, promise that there are good people in this world. People that can give you the kind of love that conquers any of the demons inside that have made you believe otherwise.
Just promise me one thing in return, never. ever. give up.
Carry on, Warrior.