I have come so far in recovery in the past four months that it's almost hard to believe that it's been such a short time period. I am an extremely hard working person, I always have been, and I'm really grateful for this trait, as I believe it's been a huge contribution to my recovery. For most of last year my life was in shatters, and I was in a living hell. There were so many times where I was just ready to give up, ready to end it all. You won't understand the pain and misery unless you've been through it yourself. I don't even remember a good portion of 2014 because I was in such a dark place. I've read journal entries that I don't even remember writing, and there's little gaps in my memory when the times were particularly awful.
But despite the fact that my every attempt to get better failed for a long time, somehow I kept getting up off the ground and fighting to make things better. I went through plenty of periods where I gave up, but somehow I always fought the urges to stop trying in the end, and I was able to continue on with my recovery. At the beginning of October I was in the hospital for the fourth time, plotting ways to try to kill myself in the hospital, starving myself, scratching myself when I couldn't find anything sharp--I was more than ready to die at that point. It's hard to imagine now since I'm so far from where I was back then. I was in a prison of my own mind, and I wasn't myself, I didn't recognize myself in the mirror and I felt like a walking corpse, a dead soul in a live body. I don't know how I did it, but I somehow survived that darkness and began working really hard. I had therapy multiple times a week, I attended a theraputic school, I was supervised very closely for a while, and I worked hard to start living again.
Today, people tell me that they're starting to see a sparkle back in my eye that hasn't been there in over a year. I haven't been seriously suicidal since October, and I'm two months clean from self harm. I am such a different person than I was in April, or September. I'd be lying if I told you I was happy, and that I didn't have any problems. I still have urges to self harm, I still have depressive periods, I still have panic attacks, I have a new bald patch behind my ear, my body dysmorphia is going crazy--my life isn't easy. But I wouldn't trade it for the world. I am so happy that I didn't get what I wanted in October, that I'm still here and I'm still fighting to get better.
I'm proud of myself.
Yeah, I said it. I'm proud. They say that God doesn't throw something at you that you can't handle. I often question that, but in the end I know it's true. Sure I don't have it easy like some other people might. But I am so much stronger because of my struggles. I might not be captain of the sports team or in the national honors society like I thought I was supposed to. But I am facing things that most kids my age won't face for years, I'm on a journey of self discovery, I'm learning skills that will help me for the rest of my life. I am so much more mature and empathetic than I would have been if it weren't for all of my struggles.
I spend most of my time cursing my mental illnesses, because I hate them, and they drain my life away. But today I thank them, because they're shaping me into the woman I'll be for the rest of my life. For better or for worse.
I'll end this post with a quote that most certainly sums up my journey through recovery.
"Rock bottom became a solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life."
-JK Rowling
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