Dear Eating Disorder,
Wow. It’s been a long time since we last talked, hasn’t it? Well, I’d thought I’d update you on my life.
I’m 23 years old now. That itself sounds like a major accomplishment. Remember how we talked about how sure we were that I’d be dead before I turned 21? Either you’d kill me, or I’d check myself out purposely or by accident. It was quite comforting to 16 year old me to know I wouldn’t have to worry about making it on my own as an adult, without school to occupy me. Because you had me quite convinced I would never be competent enough to be on my own, or that the trials of life were worth enduring.
But I have my nursing degree now, and am living off my own paycheck. I even bought myself a new car and have no trouble making payments.
Oh yeah, I have a boyfriend that loves me too. We will be together a year this July.
I won’t pretend there were times where I wanted to give it all up; where life seemed too painful at times it wasn’t worth sticking out. But I’ve had enough good experiences now to know they are worth it. That those feelings of helplessness and worthlessness will pass. Maybe it’s having the right combination of psych meds in my system, or maybe it was the years of therapy, or DBT, or maybe the perspective a few more years of life has given me. Maybe it’s the feeling that for the first time, I feel in control of the direction my life will go.
Anyway, the reason I’m writing you is that, even though when I’m struggling I may drunk-dial you and cry for your help, I’m actually doing pretty alright without you. More than alright, actually.
That’s all I have to say.
This was originally a private post… but a couple friends wanted to see it when I told them about it… so what the hell.