Forgiveness

Lately I’ve felt like I’m in a rut with recovery. Not in the sense that I’ve fully engaged with the eating disorder again, but more so that I just haven’t been putting in the effort to fully recover. It’s like I can see the light at the end of the tunnel and I’ve gotten a taste of what life can be like without restriction, but something is still holding me back from that life. And it’s not that I don’t want it, because trust me, I do. I guess I’ve just been reflecting a lot on where I was versus where I am now, and I can see and feel the difference recovery has made, but with all of that in mind it’s almost as though I feel I don’t deserve to be here. And I don’t know why that is, and the one thing that I keep coming back to is this idea of forgiveness. Being able to forgive myself for the pain that I’ve caused myself and the pain I’ve caused others. It’s exhausting to feel a constant blanket of guilt for the pain that I know I caused. The physical pain I caused my body, the emotional pain I caused myself, and the pain that I caused others while I was too sick to realize it. I don’t know if I’ve ever told myself that I’m sorry and accepted it. I don’t know how to tell everyone I care about that I’m sorry. And the only way I could think to do it was writing, because it seems to be the one way I know I can get the words out.

I’m sorry that I almost took away my life. I’m sorry that I let myself spiral into a sickness that I couldn’t recognize. I’m sorry that I refused to get help for so long. I’m sorry that I didn’t see a future for myself. I’m sorry that I let myself bottle everything up inside. I’m sorry that I convinced myself that the eating disorder was helping me. I’m sorry that I convinced myself that I didn’t deserve to get better, that I deserved to be alone and sick. I’m sorry that I blamed myself for things out of my control. I’m sorry that I isolated myself from anyone who wanted to help me. I’m sorry that I convinced myself that I was being strong. I’m sorry that I didn’t take the time to understand myself. I’m sorry for it all. And I can’t go back and change it. I can’t get that time back. I thought I mourned the time that I lost, the pieces of myself that I lost, but I don’t think that I truly have. And I think part of it’s because I don’t really know when I started to lose myself.

Part of me thinks it was sophomore year of college when I turned to binge drinking and bulimia to cope with the anxiety I began to develop and the guilt of feeling like the cause of my parent’s divorce. It was the first time I had to deal with something in my life that far out of my control, and the one thing that made me feel better was alcohol and controlling my size, since that was what I believed my identity to be. But how could I have begun to lose myself then when I spent the next six months abroad experiencing things that I never could have imagined? How could I have begun to spiral then and not admit that I was? I knew deep down I needed help, but the best thing I felt I could for myself was escape. But the issue with that train of thought was that I had to come back to face reality eventually. And although the bulimia had slowly whittled away, I was still harming myself by never making myself understand why I resorted to those coping mechanisms. I just became angry with myself in the sense that I didn’t feel good enough and I didn’t know why. I came back from Europe and it was like being truly happy was exhausting. It wasn’t just something that was naturally there anymore. And I’m sorry that I chose to try and fix it myself. I’m sorry that I chose to numb myself because it was the easy way out. I’m sorry that I liked feeling numb for so long.

I’ve come to terms with the time that I lost because of my eating disorder, and I don’t want to give any more of my life to it, but it’s easier said than done to let go of the pain I’ve caused. I let myself and the people I care about down and that feeling continues to weigh heavily on me. Even now, when I’m the happiest I’ve been in years, I have that lingering feeling of disappointment in myself for not letting myself start healing sooner. I thought that I had taken the time to mourn the time the eating disorder took away from me, and to mourn the false sense of power that the eating disorder gave me, but I don’t think I did. I can’t get that time back and I can’t make my relationships with everyone I love magically heal.

And to everyone that my eating disorder also hurt, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I let down my friends and family. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for anyone when they needed me, and I’m sorry I pushed everyone away when I needed them. I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to let people in to get to know the true me, because I didn’t understand who that person was. I’m sorry that I avoided conflict and hard conversations because I couldn’t handle to feel those emotions. I’m sorry that I let my eating disorder affect other people. And I know that my people aren’t angry with me, but I honestly think disappointment is worse than anger, and it’s really hard to think that i disappointed the people I care about most.

This was my long-winded way of telling myself that it’s time to forgive myself, even if I don’t know how to fully do that right now. It’s time to stop just telling myself that I’m sorry – it’s time to actually mean it and move forward. I do see a really great life ahead of me and I want to be able to live it without feeling guilty for building my life back up from where I put myself. And while the pain I caused myself feels unforgivable, I’m learning that forgiveness isn’t easy, but it is necessary to move forward. I may have hurt myself, but I also have worked really hard to learn how to really love myself, and I think it’s the first time that I have ever really accepted that I can.