i would be lying
if i said recovery was easy–
if i pretended it didn’t bother me
that my tiny waist has expanded;
that my clothes still fit, but fit “differently;”
or that i am no longer “the skinny girl”
with the pale skin and perfectly flat stomach.
between obsessive calorie counting
and the regained curvature of my legs
i am falling apart
trying desperately to remember
the lightness of my emaciated frame
and the feeling of my ribcage on my fingertips.
every day holds a temptation
to simply give in and avoid the kitchen
and i long so strongly
to shut my lips against anything
besides water and herbal tea.
it is a seemingly unending battle
and the only thought sustaining me
is that i cannot afford another relapse
or a desire to live this way forever–
in constant fear of something
that is necessary to survival.
truthfully, I was so worn of being
unable to hold up my head when i woke
and tired when i climbed the stairs to my bedroom.
though mentally weak,
i cannot deny that my body is healthier than it has been
for a long, long time
and deep down, i know that it will become a great deal easier
to accept the healing i avoided for so many months
the more i take care of
my precious, malnourished being
in spite of myself.
with this reflection, i continue fighting
and looking forward to restoration–
not necessarily of my figure,
but of the depths of my mind
with the knowledge that i am living
exactly as i am supposed to.
so through all of the tears,
the empty wishes,
and the anxiety i face daily,
i will continue smiling at the strength,
and power of this exquisite body
that i have dragged through hell and back
with the understanding that, because of this struggle,
i am becoming a better version of myself
than i could have possibly imagined.
i would be lying