TW: Depression, Self harm, Eating disorders
Last week it was my birthday. I’ve had better birthdays, probably, but I’ve never been so happy for a birthday to come (and thank you to my incredible roommate for making it so fun).
The reason I am so grateful for this birthday is that for a long time, I didn’t think it would come. Last year was the hardest year of my life, and my birthday fell right in the middle of one of its darkest periods. If you asked me on April 14, 2016 if I thought I would reach April 14, 2017, I probably would have said no. But here I am, one birthday later. This is the birthday I didn't think I'd have, but I'm so grateful I made it.
Last year, I lost a lot.
On April 18, I lost the school I loved. For months before that, I lost friends as I drew within myself. I lost weight, and abused my body in so many ways. I starved myself, threw up dozens of times, and worked out despite injuries. I lost weight, gained it back, and lost it again. I lost a lot of unblemished skin, and replaced it with scars. I will never regain that severed nerve or ripped tendon. I will live with these losses for the rest of my life, and I will never forget 2016. I cannot get rid of the scars on my wrists, and I don’t want to. I am proud of how far I’ve come, and these scars are my symbol of that. 2016 was the year I lost -- school, jobs, friends, romantic relationship, my family’s trust. I lost my spring and summer to time in hospitals, my autumn to outpatient treatment. I have yelled at doctors, snapped at my family, and sunk deeper than ever before. I spent more than a hundred days living in hospitals, and another hundred in outpatient treatment. But I can’t think of those as lost days. Because no matter how much I lost, I have also gained.
I have gained the skills to keep myself from hurting myself, the skills to sit down with a plate of food that fits my meal plan, and eat it. I have gained an understanding of my complex personality, and learned how to navigate my often tumultuous personal relationships. I have learned to stop blaming myself, and told myself a hundred times that I deserve happiness, that I deserve love. I have regained my family’s trust in me. I have regained the ability to walk into CVS and not walk straight to the razors, the ability to keep my own medications without any threat of taking more than I should. I haven’t drunk until I threw up in 373 days. I haven’t picked up a razor in nine months. I have stopped lying to myself, to my treatment team, my family, and my friends. I am not hiding anymore. I show off my therapy because I want people to know that it’s okay. I wear short sleeves now. I am not ashamed of my wrists. I have nothing to hide. I have found a place at a new school, built new relationships, and gotten a fresh start. I have a job, and I lived truly independently for four months before returning to college.
Thank you to my family, my friends, the people who have stood by me through all of this. I know I put you through a lot, and I wish I could take it back. I am more grateful than I could ever say, so I am going to shout it from the rooftops -- you are angels, and I cannot thank you enough. Thank you to Andrea Gibson and Rupi Kaur for your poetry. I wouldn’t be alive without it.
It has been a hard year, but going into this birthday, I am stronger than I have ever been. I have repaired my cracks with gold, to remind myself that I am stronger at the broken places. Happy birthday, April. You made it.
