First things first before I drone on with this post of mine:
I admit that I am a recovering bulimic and that I am also recovering from depressive symptoms whose roots trace back to almost five years ago. And after talking about this issue for countless times in front of people, from the ones that I care about to those who I consider mere acquaintances, I guess it wouldn’t hurt if more people found out about this issue of mine, because I want to let some people know about my story of recovery.
There have been too many stories of how someone ends up in depression and bulimia.
It all starts with these reasons, and I might be overgeneralizing it but that’s how I see it. I’m not about to go into the whole “society’s sin” or whatever they call it. There are too many accounts of kids and adults trying to give up on being themselves because of that very reason.
I’ve had three suicide attempts because of these issues, but I’m not going to go into detail about that either. Because bottom line is that it’s stupid to do that.
I’m not going to go about with the process of people looking at those who are like me.. Criticizing about how I’m so negative about practically everything. How my emotions drove me to push people away, even when they were only trying to help. Because every person knows how much it hurts to be misunderstood and looked down upon because of the fragility of human emotion.
In the past six months of my recovery, I’ve gone through the whole phase of changing my perception of life.
I went through the whole process.
I tried to exercise regularly to redirect my frustrations and aggression, but as work had forced me to stop, then it didn’t help.
People gave me advice and even gave me a pile of paper with listless information on how to change habits, but seeing as I barely had time for even that, it was eventually discarded because of time constraints.
Crying didn’t come easy to me either, because it never helped to cry alone. It never helped that people saw me crying either, because of the fear of abandonment that consumed me.
RECOVERY IS A LOT OF BULLSHIT. IT WAS HARDER THAN ANYTHING ELSE BECAUSE IT WAS TRYING TO MEDIATE THE HABITS WHICH HAD IMPLANTED ITSELF UNCONSCIOUSLY INTO ME. AND THAT WAS THE FRUSTRATION THAT I HARBORED IN THE MONTHS THAT IT HAPPENED.
But today, I realized something that came to mind while I was mooning about my issues in the shower.
You know how people keep saying that happiness is a choice? That everyone can choose to abandon depression and worry? Yeah, those things are every bit true. But you know what’s more? It’s going to be bloody hard to attain that.
It was only now what I got a little bit of self-realization with that.
I could assure myself that I could be who I am because I knew that beauty resided in me, regardless of my imperfections and ugliness, then realize the people who truly loved me for it… Or I could continue pretending to be the person who holds herself back in fear of being unaccepted by people who she wanted to please.
That was something that I had to learn to accept. People were waiting for me to return. A future lies ahead of me, and I just had to abandon my hopelessness and worry to look at it more clearly.
EVERYTHING IS GOING TO SET IN ONCE A LITTLE BIT OF SECURITY ENTERS YOU. AND IT FEELS SO DAMN GOOD TO FEEL A LITTLE BIT OF BURDEN ESCAPE FROM YOUR SHOULDERS.
Doubtless, I was going to feel that overwhelming feeling of loneliness. I was going to get that sense of abandonment. I was always going to carry insecurity, because every individual has that no matter how small it is because of their inability to cope with EVERY DAMN THING SOCIETY DEMANDS, THE SELF INCLUDED IN THE PACKAGE.
But as long as you keep something to yourself that you think will get you past all that, then it will be fine. It doesn’t have to be religious, neither does it have to be something utterly special. Maybe a little piece of paper, or perhaps a bracelet, or maybe even a letter to yourself. It’s going to get you a little closer to feeling better.