Strength

     What does it mean to be strong? I use to think strong meant never showing weakness, never showing pain, and never reaching out for help. Before people found out about my anorexia or self harm I thought I had this enormous amount of strength because I had found a way to handle all of my pain so that no one would ever see me cry, never see me broken, and most of all I had found a way to protect myself against the feelings of worthlessness, failure, weak, and pathetic. I was the thing that held everything together, I could stop the world from finding out about my mom's alcoholism and the bruises left on the nights when the bottle was empty, and I could be my parent's confidant, holding all of their secrets. The fact is that I was spinning out of control and I was headed for a hard crash...a crash that almost killed me.
     Your senior year of high school is suppose to be awesome, the last year with your friends and favorite teachers before you are going off on different roads. I didn't make it through a month before everyone started realizing that something was wrong, I never ate, and the excuses for the cuts on my arms were obvious lies. When my secret came out people thought that it was the time I would get better, I would be strong again, but I just got better at lying. I couldn't let food inside me, I couldn't handle all the feelings I had, and I couldn't stop the bleeding no matter how much I tried I wasn't strong enough to ask for help. I thought if I smiled no one would see how much I was hurting on the inside, I couldn't be me because the real me was pathetic and worthless, deserving of all the punishment I was inflicting in the dark. I literally couldn't cry, I couldn't breathe, and the only relief was seeing my own blood hit the floor. I HATED everything about myself and I believed the lies screaming in my head that everyone else hated me too, and I had to starve and bleed because pain is the only way to perfection. Years of hospitals, tubes, IVs, heart monitors, and babysitters couldn't breakthrough the screaming in my head.
     Between 2004 and 2006 I lost pretty much all of my friends, my family didn't trust me, and no one even tried to stop me from destroying myself anymore besides my doctor who had to constantly put me in the hospital and force feed me and hydrate me because even taking a drink of water was something I didn't deserve. Then in 2007 I was raped, he took from me what was suppose to be mine to give. I was ashamed and couldn't tell anyone because I knew it was my fault, at least that is what I thought. It was two weeks before I told a friend what had happened, my world was shattered, and I didn't want to live anymore. I learned while living at a Women's Shelter that only three percent of rapes are prosecuted, mine would not be one of them. The nightmares still breakthrough even now, and I think of him out there just living his life with no regard for what he did and I know that I have to forgive him, but I've yet to fully grasp how. It was only a few months after that my mom died from her alcoholism. I still couldn't cry, I still felt it was my place to be strong, to read the eulogy without tears, to hold my five year old sister's hand as they placed our mother in the ground, and to protect my grandma from my pain and secrets. All the therapy and medicine in the world wasn't saving me, just bringing more addictions. After cutting I could swallow a few pills and fall into a dreamless coma for hours and repeat the process when I needed. I don't remember most of 2008 and the first part of 2009 except for waking up in the intensive care unit after a nearly successful suicide attempt. I was nothing in my eyes, worthless and deserving of everything that happened to me. I thought by killing myself I was making it easier for everyone, and they could finally move on. That was my rock bottom, that was the moment that I learned what true strength and courage was.
     I met the man who is now my husband during the darkest period of my life, and for some reason when he looked at me he didn't see this worthless, nothing I thought I was. He would tell me I was beautiful, he didn't judge the scars all over me, and he reached out for me. My whole life I had believed that reaching out to people made you weak and pathetic, and once you didn't get better immediately they gave up on you like a failed science experiment. I was tired of my life, ready to give up or get better because staying in the darkness wasn't working anymore. I very carefully took his hand and began that slow climb into the light. Everyday was a struggle and everyday I learned what true strength was. Strength isn't being perfect and never showing weakness...no one is perfect and we all have weaknesses. Strength is pulling yourself back up after you've fallen into a million different pieces. Strength is saying no to the lies in your head telling you that you aren't good enough, thin enough, or you deserve to bleed. Strength is realizing that it is okay to ask for help, and it is okay to talk about all the things you've kept pushed down so far and tried to bleed and starve away. Strength is finding your voice and using it for good. And, strength is being able to admit when we are weak.
     Everyday I fight, I fight for the physical disease that is trying to destroy me, I fight back against those lies trying to breakthrough me again, and everyday I fight to help another person know that they can beat this, that they are beautiful and worthy of love and friendship, and that no one deserves to bleed, starve, purge, drink, or swallow their pain away. It isn't easy, and I won't lie and say it is because I will always fight this. I've heard others say that they are in a complete recovery and they never have any thoughts of old behaviors, well, I'm honest when I say that isn't me. I make the choice everyday to not cut and to get my nutrition, and there are days that I fall short. I've learned that that is okay and I have a new day coming. I am not ashamed of it anymore, I am not a victim, I am a survivor, and I will continue to survive whatever is thrown my way. God gave me this life, and it isn't easy, but He gave it to me because He knew I was strong enough to push through it. Believe me when I say I've doubted Him, there are days I feel like I can't make it, but minute by minute I make it through.
     It is your choice...you can be strong and fight or you can fall farther into the darkness. It took me years to start fighting, to start living. When you are living your life hurting yourself and hiding who you are from the world you aren't really living, you are merely existing. Life is a gift that can be taken at any second and I want to live it no matter how much pain I have to feel because there is joy that comes with truly living. When I am facing the end of my life I want to be able to say that I fought hard and lived every moment whether they be good or bad. I promise you that you have the strength to fight, it is there you just have to stop listening to the lies in your head. Don't let anyone tell you that you are worthless because you aren't, we all have a purpose, and we are all loved by someone.