I'm a survivor, or at least that's what everyone else says. They all say that I battled anorexia and won. I don't like what they say. They try to turn what happened to me into a lesson, making me the hero. I just shake my head whenever they say these things. I'm not the hero here.
Being anorexic isn't something you can cure. Every day is a struggle. I still find myself counting calories. I have to keep telling myself food is life. I like life, and I want to experience as much of it as possible. I still fight my demons every day. They're still present in my life, the biggest one being Cassie.
Cassie was my best friend. She was like my sister, a dysfunctional sister at that. We swore an oath and created a contest that would lead to her death. I wasn't a good friend. I encouraged her to recover then sabotaged it because I couldn't bear to be trapped in the dark alone. Cassie wasn't my only friend, but she was the only one that mattered. I showed her how to cut, something I thought would make the hurt go away. We both spiraled out of control. I'm lucky because I somehow found my way back out of the darkness.
On bad days, I ask myself what if questions. What if I hadn't sabotaged her treatment? What if we'd never had that contest? What if I had answered all her phone calls. These questions are pure torture. I don't tell anyone that I'm thinking these questions. My mom recommended keeping a journal after reading it helped girls like me towards recovery. Ugh, I hate that term.
My life has its good and bad days. Good days consist of playing with Emma, talking with my dad, cooking with Jennifer, and reading classic novels. On those days, I fell like I can fly. Bad days consist of me laying on the couch in my apartment too depressed to get up, not eating anything, and crying a lot. I frequently knit on bad days, giving the products to my family. That is how they know I'm still struggling. My life is as normal as it will ever be.
I have a few friends, mostly ones from New Seasons: Hannah, Lindsay, and Keria. Hannah was anorexic like me, Lindsay had been beat by her boyfriend, and Keria had attempted suicide three times. We all took life day by day, sharing a loft apartment. Hannah was studying to be a writer and hoped to write a book of all our experiences. I'd already given her my consent. Lindsay wanted to be a social worker because she was raised in crappy foster care and wanted to make sure no children were put in the same situation that she'd been in. Keria had a small bookstore, and we shared a love of classic novels. I couldn't survive without these girls I'd met at treatment. They were my rock, the only people who knew how I felt.
I see Eli a lot as well; he finally decided to stop living the life of a nomad and opened a diner a few blocks away from me. I stop in once a day, and he always has a plate ready for me even if all I want is coffee. When I asked why, Eli said that I scared him that day and that he was going to take care of me no matter what I did. The day I went to him and showed him my scars was the worst day of my life. Everything just fell apart, and I wanted to start fresh. Luckily, he tricked me into staying.
I did graduate and am taking courses at the local university where my dad teaches. I'm studying to be, irony of ironies, a guidance counselor. I wanted to spot kids like Cassie and me and give them guidance. I wasn't going to force treatment on them; I knew from experience that it didn't work that way. I would just tell them my story. If people were going to call me a hero, the least I could was give them a reason to say it. My life will never be perfect, but considering how it was before, I was pretty damn lucky. And, I was thankful every day.