Have you ever gotten that feeling that you're about to get in huge trouble, or you found something that brings back memories you have tried so hard to forget? The feeling that there's a big rock in your stomach, your breaths start to get slower and turn into big sighs. You're brain starts screaming no no no, but you can't help but continue.
I have that feeling. I had been cleaning my room, and in a bin on the top shelf of my closet was my old green journal, the one I had from beginning of grade 6, to half way through grade 7.
Every single page in there was filled with my thoughts on things, memories, and much more that no one would understand but me.
With shaking hands, I open it, and smile at my semi messy, big writing I had back then. Slowly, I flip through the pages, laughing at the memories I had forgotten, the stupid little things that I had gotten so mad over.
My writing soon gets neater, and I soon get into the period of my life I like to call the darker days.
I was still living in the dark days, just not so dark. Soon all I read is how alone I feel, how I just want to die. There's tallies of all the times I had ever brought blood to the surface of my skin, counts of calories. Sometimes in big capitol letters I would read about how i felt so disappointed in myself for eating a meal over 500 calories. Telling myself, fatso, why did you do that!?
I slowly turn each page, and then I get to March 4th 2012. One of my worst nights. There was my plan. My plan to commit suicide. This page held everything. I was going to sneak down at night after my parents were fast asleep, and find any kind of pills I had, and take them all. Two or three of each kind.
I turn the page quickly and to read my next entry, but it wasn't a normal journal entry. That was written while on vacation. It was my promise to the guy I had met. It was my promise not to hurt myself anymore.
From that night on, I had written about how badly I wanted to do all my old habits, but I didn't, and soon my entries got happier and up beat. That only lasted for seven months.
I close my journal, and grab my current one, and flip to the page of the day I had relapsed. November 3rd 2012. I read how good it felt to do this again, and how I couldn't wait to feel empty. How stupid people had been, thinking I was fine and eating, when really I was throwing it up as soon as I came home from school.
I had gotten back into my counting calories, wanting to be normal, and wanting to die. I was falling into the world of Ana.
I can't believe I had gotten into this world I spent seven months getting out of. I had to get better. My parents would start to notice me not eating so much, and when if I tried on bathing suits or shorts, and my mom wondered what the scars were from on my thighs!? I had to get myself better.
I flip to an open page, take a deep breath, and write down the title to my list. Good Things In My Life.