Stories
Today, I share my story of survival. I did not believe that I would live to see my 18th birthday, yet here I am, living.
Topic: healing
Today, I share my story of survival. I did not believe that I would live to see my 18th birthday, yet here I am, living.
“What’s wrong with me?” I pleaded. “Am I bipolar or something?”
beyond the clouds, it is there. waiting at an oak table with a mug of donut shoppe coffee and a newspaper, saying, “you’re alive. isn’t that the greatest thing anybody can be?”
It’s possible to live with scars, to feel the same pain you feel right now and to not hurt yourself because of it, to want to stop.
Depression is like a tunnel, not a cave.
When I see declarations of happiness in pounds lost and images of shrinking frames, the voice of my eating disorder begins to rustle.
How to even begin? I was pregnant, and now I’m not.
Tomorrow you will do it all again. I know that’s scary to hear, especially since today you contemplated handing it in, crashing the car, putting a stop to it all. But keep going.
The funny thing about being broken, however, is that’s where you start to build yourself back up.
Time doesn’t tell you about the late-night phone calls answered, the grocery store runs when the razors were returned to the shelf, or the first time I decided to walk out the door wearing shorts.
I want to share with you some of the everyday things that helped me along on my road to recovery from an eating disorder...
Perhaps the biggest lie that comes with Valentine’s Day is the idea that if you don’t have romantic love in your life, you don’t have love in your life.
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