(before any words, i want to warn you that this post could be triggering indeed. and that being said, i also do want to say that it gets better by the end. there is light, even here.)
sometimes, i find myself missing the hospital.
sometimes, i find myself in a panic where the realization hits me that a life of recovery from my eating disorder means that i will never again be reduced to a numb body in a hospital bed, consuming ensure for days and weeks and months on end.
sometimes, i even miss the feeding tubes forced down my throat, the tangle of the nasal-gastric tube, the way the pump and i were forced to walk together, down the sterile corridors.
“will i ever be sick again?” i scream inside of myself. a lump rises in my throat.
“why do i deserve to live if i am not sick?”
the honesty of this fact makes me nauseous. it fills me with fear and disgust and more guilt than i can express in words. how could i want all of this again? my god, why is there something so wrong with me?
and then i realized. i realized it at five in the morning, before the dawn rose today. it woke me from my sleep, and i am so grateful that it did.
i do not actually want any of this.
no, what i want is something so so very far from this.
i never again want to live as a listless body underneath thin hospital sheets.
i do not miss the heart monitors, or the feeding tubes, or the glucose readings of barely twenty four.
no. it is not this that i miss.
this is what i realized at five in the morning, as the dark outside was still silent, the trees still covered with dew:
i miss being shown, every time food was put in front of me, every time my feeding tube bag was refilled with sustenance, that my life was deserving of being saved. i missed being shown that i deserved to be alive.
because in my heart of hearts, at the core of my truest part of me, all i wanted was to have this belief i held about myself, this belief that my life was inherently wrong and unneeded and unworthy, disproven.
all i wanted was to live. and because i could not willingly chose to foster my own life, having my existence forced upon me was the breath of relief i could not bear to ever give myself.
and that is exactly what those sanitized hospital beds proved to me in those days, weeks, and months i spent at a time there. that i deserved to be cared for, fed, and ultimately kept alive.
and those places physically saved me, and led me to where i am now. they saved me, and today they also made me think.
my body, the same body that was saved countless times from the brink of devastation, is the same body i have now.
i may take up more space in this universe now, my heart may have begun to heal, it is no longer a staggering miracle i can walk, but am i not the same person who was (many times) shown i was deserving of saving?
am i not the same soul? am i not the same body, albeit stronger and more alive?
why would i deserve life any less, now?
will i have to continuously keep killing myself to keep relearning i will be saved? will the cycle never end, until my body gives out completely?
no, i cannot and choose not to live that darkness any longer.
i choose to accept this life as inherently deserving of being lived, no matter how difficult that may be.
because the truth is, each and every one of us deserves to exist, even without killing ourselves to be shown that.
we deserve to exist, to live the fullest and brightest lives we can imagine, and we deserve to realize that it is only each and every one of us that can understand that for ourselves.
and if you cannot yet live that deservingness as your truth, i am here to tell you.
you deserve to live.
yes. yes. yes.