I never thought I'd live to see 18. I didn't plan on going to uni because I couldn't think past school and didn't think I'd be alive. Then I was alive and after a gap year I went to uni. I shelved it a little but still always figured I would die. Surely my depression or self harm or eating disorder would kill me. But they haven't. I'm still alive. Since my ED relapse (Autumn 2014) I never ever thought I'd recover. Ever. And especially over the last 6 months- I didn't care what behaviours I was using because I didn't care if they killed me. (I told my GP numerous times that they should all stop telling me I was going to die unless they were going to deliver on that promise lol). I didn't want anything from life so it didn't matter if I had no energy etc. But now I'm here and I'm alive and I have two jobs I love, a house in progress, cat motherhood approaching and... a life. I have this life in my hands and I don't know what to do with it. It's almost like learning to walk. It's wobbly. I'm in a place where I recognise my eating disorder can't come along for the ride for the first time ever. I've even independently started a list of reasons to recover. It feels different this time, because I'm doing it for me, off my own back, not for others. I have things I want to do and places I want to go. I'm planning things more than an hour in advance. It's so so so weird. I don't know how, but somehow I need to kick this evil disorder out of my life. There's no other choice if I want to be alive before I die.
