Still Here: Reflections from One Year Later

I meant to write this entry on the 9th. Because that was exactly one year since discharge from Children's. But maybe it's better that I've waited. I'm not sure I could say recovery began that first day of discharge. I'm not sure I can pinpoint an exact day when my recovery did start, when I became motivated to beat my anorexia and start living again.

Certainly, recovery still is a long, difficult process, even today.

It's so hard to believe how much can change in a year. This time last year, things were completely different. I was completely different.

I know maybe that sounds cheesy. Of course everyone changes in a year. But as I look back, reflecting to the breaking girl I was over a year ago, remembering how afraid I was of everything, it's unbelievable. Sometimes, I just cannot believe I'm still here. That I'm this happy, this free, this full of life.

I am for a moment going to go back to the original reason I was writing this entry. December 9th.

9 December 2010: I discharge after 3 months of treatment in the edu. I don't remember a whole lot about this day, except that I was afraid. So, so afraid. I'd finally put myself out there, told my story of my eating disorder through dance, began talking, and finally began grieving for dearest Nick. But it was a lot to deal with. After 3 months, I didn't really feel safe anywhere else. I didn't know how to live outside of the hospital, with all of the outside world affecting me. I'd built a bigger bubble for myself, yes, but I still lived in a bubble. So mostly, I remember crying to Erin, my dance therapist, and to loving Gary. I'd begun to heal, but only just begun. I wasn't ready to leave yet. Or was I? Maybe, or maybe not. But I took that leap, hugging my friends and those who helped me, knowing I could always, always go back there. And I still do go back there, looking for help and love. Somewhere deep inside me, though, I think I must've known that I was ready, ready to start living and trusting. Because I did leave. I knew I wanted to stay, and I knew I had to leave. In order to live, I had to get out of that bubble and learn to deal with the world. Learn to live in the world, not just in my safe place.

"After 11 weeks, why is it still so hard for me to believe in myself and so hard for me to just accept the way I am?" -Facebook status, 9 December 2010

9 December 2011: I walk down the street in Kailua, Hawaii, as darkness falls. Birds chirp loudly above us, people wander home around us, and my dear friend Lauren walks next to me. I am confident. I know where I'm going. I know what I want. Something has changed in me. Nothing noticeable to any of these people or creatures surrounding me, but noticeable to me alone. I am alive, strong, hopeful, trusting. We turn the corner, and that green building comes into view. I take a deep breath, open the door, and step in. Today, I am getting my tattoo. I will let it live there, look at it every day, as a reminder of my recovery, a reminder of Nick. I sit down, watch the man clean everything, and brace myself. Pain is coming. Close my eyes, deep breath, think of all I love and hope for. And it comes. The moments of pain, yes, but also a deep sense of relief and wonderment. A tingling, coming from my nerves, yes, but also (I think) coming from somewhere in the stars and somewhere deep inside me. I smile, slowly, slightly, and keep breathing. An hour later, an hour of pain and emotion and joy and hope, we are finished. And I can't stop smiling. I've done it. BEAUTY FROM PAIN. Whole again after being broken. Fragile, fearful, sad, but also strong, hopeful, and...happy.

Yes. I am happy. I love you Nick. Thank you for showing me all of this, for leading my hand through the world with the touch of the stars.

So. Perhaps it is very fitting that I am sitting here, 23:00 on New Year's Eve 2011, writing this journal entry. I never, ever have plans on New Year's Eve, so this is the best and most spiritually fulfilling way I can think of to ring in the New Year.

Because a long 365 days passed between those 2 December 9ths. 365 days, 3339 miles, and a completely different person. 2011 has had its ups and downs, yes, just as any year does. But I am happy and proud to stand here and say that I can look back at 2011 and smile, mostly.

I entered 2011 in recovery, working to catch up in school. I struggled through those early months, missing the light still, but always knowing it was out there in the stars somewhere. I found an amazing group of girls in my town who have helped me, every month, every day to keep strength and keep love. I worked my way through IB coursework and tests and classes, laughing with friends hours into the late nights. I made it through an entire track season, slowly improving my tiems, but more importantly finding my strength, finding friends, and learning how to move through life. I graduated (valedictorian, but that's not quite as important as the first statement there). I finished with IB, friends cheering and laughing and "studying" by my side. I was the booth manager at work over the summer. I cried my way through the last Harry Potter movie, again with friends by my side.

And I came to Hawaii for college. Nervous, scared, but extremely hopeful. And it was hard, no lying. Because I am shy. It was amazing for me to have friends at my side throughout all those events listed above, since I often don't know how to reach out to people. So that first month at college was hard. But I broke out of my shell. I started hanging out with people. I started laughing with people. And to some friends, I started opening up. I co-led a talk on Body Image in my hall with my amazing RA, who has done so much for me this past semester. I found a house to go to for Thanksgiving dinner. And after months of loneliness and despair, I finally allowed myself to hang out with people, just go down to their rooms and begin the conversation myself. Wow. I know that may sound stupid, but it's big for me. So I had fun. I cried, I grieved, I let myself be free. But I laughed a lot. I didn't sleep much. I worked, and I talked late into the night. And time flew by, until I was hugging my friend at 19:45 on December 19th, both of us--finally--headed home.

All of that, in one year. And look how much the postiive things stick out in my mind. I can remember some really dark times, too, but they're not as large. They don't have as much impact on me right now. I'm alive. And I'm loving being alive, swimming in the ocean and laughing with my friends at 1:30 am on a Wednesday.

For the first time I can remember, I'm not sitting here on New Year's Eve thinking, "Well, hopefully (insert year here) will be better than this past one. Hopefully." That always used to be what I thought.

But tonight? No. 2011 was an amazing year me. Filled with tears and falls and fear, but more importantly, filled with hope and joy and dreams. I'm dreaming, and I'm living. I miss Nick still, but I carry his spirit with me every day. I dream, I swim, I run, and I breathe.

So. 2012 will be here in a mere 30 minutes. And what am I hoping for? Not that it will be better, no.

I just hope for wisdom and love and strength, and that this amazing life I'm leading, these dreams I'm following and living, will be able to continue into next year. I hope I can live in 2012 just as I lived in 2011. Strong. True. ALIVE.

And I wish myself, and all of you this, in the words of Neil Gaiman:

"I hope you will have a wonderful year, that you’ll dream dangerously and outrageously, that you’ll make something that didn’t exist before you made it, that you will be loved and that you will be liked, and that you will have people to love and to like in return. And, most importantly (because I think there should be more kindness and more wisdom in the world right now), that you will, when you need to be, be wise, and that you will always be kind."

I love all of you. Thank you for making 2011 the best year of my life so far.

Here's to 2012. May it be wonderful.