Numbers control my life. It’s what time I wake up in the morning and go to bed at night. It’s when I have to start getting ready to give myself enough time before I have to leave. It’s when I can start eating in the mornings and when I have to stop. It’s how much I can have, or too little. It’s how much is too much. Who decided how much is too much?
Oftentimes, this seems to be all I talk about. That’s because it’s all I can think about. Not a moment in the day goes by where my mind isn’t calculating the amount of something. What my next meal will be, its exact measurements and therefore exact amount of calories, what time I get to have it and how much longer until then. You would think by this standard that I’d be a bonafide mathematician, but no.
Every movement I made was strategic, made to cancel out anything that had to enter my body. Everything I did deserved a punishment to counteract it. Simplicities in life like running or driving alone got taken away. Christmas and Thanksgiving, even my birthday, became my worst nightmare. My life had become bleak and near non-existent without control. It was once all I had and suddenly it was taken away. Now, I had nothing.
It took months and months of fighting before cooperation on my part came, and everything seemed to fall back into place. I was given more control again and I was getting better. Until I fell off the other end.
Here’s the thing about going from having so little to having a normal amount again: you never relearn portion control. No matter how gradually you’re led back to normalcy, you’re not the same as you were. All these thoughts are the same, your actions just overtake them. Overtake you, sometimes.
Years and years of going back and forth on the spectrum has been exhausting, to say the least. Going up and down on the scale and clothing sizes leaves you with no solid idea of what you look like, and a closet full of clothes that don’t fit quite right anymore.
After hundreds of thousands of online searches on what will get me to where I want to be, I’ve learned how to find happiness in what is actually good for me. Running isn’t a punishment anymore. Exercise doesn’t have to exist to cancel anything out, it can just be for me to feel good. Food doesn’t have to be dreaded, it can be fun and enjoyable.
This is my reality, and has been for around five years now. But it doesn’t have to be and it’s not going to be anymore.
The fact of the matter is, my sick little 14-year-old self would love the way I look today and be mortified the way I eat. She would also be shocked beyond belief that this newfound confidence and acceptance came healthily. No matter how long it took and continues to take.
VoiceLine 
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