I refuse to be a sob story.

I won't write about the eating disorder that has altered and ravaged my life for the past six years or the depression and anxiety I've dealt with ever since I can remember.

Instead, I'm writing about reconnecting, about picking up the pieces and rebuilding my identity. I'm writing in hopes that someone out there struggling with an eating disorder or depression like I have for years will see this and realize there is life after. There is something beyond the countless doctor appointments, scales, numbers, charts, nights spent drying the tears off of your tired face. There is life afterward.

I'm writing about my own aftermath.

"Aftermath" seems like the wrong word to use. Phrases like "the aftermath of the earthquake" usually precede descriptions of broken, burned, and destroyed buildings. Yet, I think it's fitting. My eating disorder, depression and anxiety have been my personal earthquakes that have shaken my world. This analogy may seem extreme, yet I think I've sustained a devastation similar to that of an earthquake on a city's infrastructure: I was torn down, left sitting in the rubble that used to be my life.

I do not see my eating disorder or depression as something that ruined my life forever. Instead, I feel they forced me to start again and build myself up from new ground. They shook me to my core and threatened to end my life prematurely, but I can confidently (and proudly) say I am no longer broken: I am recovering, rebuilding myself piece by piece.

Since starting recovery, which has been a long, ongoing process, I've been able to rediscover the personality, passions, and connections I lost during my illnesses. The sick version of myself stayed at home, receded from social contact, focused solely on surviving one day and advancing to the next. She was quiet, introverted, paranoid, and refused to leave her comfort zone. She clung to her illnesses as a child does to a blanket, saw them as part of her identity, and accepted them as permanent.

I am not her anymore.

Through recovery, I have been able to take the broken shards of my life around me and recreate myself: my self-image, my personality, thoughts, enthusiasms, beliefs, and values. I have discovered and taken advantage of new paths and opportunities that would never have been available to me previously. I gained a confidence I once lacked, as well as an optimistic attitude that allowed me to take chances and begin again.

I switched from a small private school into one bigger than some small colleges. I found a love for athletics, especially running, and even completed my first half-marathon this past year. I dyed my hair, adopted a vegetarian diet, began volunteering and working for myself. I found a passion in working with the special education program at my high school and was accepted into our "PE Partners" program. I challenged myself to take AP classes in subjects I was interested in and survived the SATs. I got a B for the first time in five years and didn't break down crying as I would have during my illnesses. I've made countless new friends, met new people from all different backgrounds, and can now label myself as an extrovert, unafraid to speak up first. I even crowd surfed for the first time, and I have the pictures to prove it.

I'm not who I was a few years ago. I was given a second chance, and allowed to create myself again, and I am extremely grateful for everything recovery has given me. I have opened myself to new opportunities and people, pulled myself out from my own depths and now I can see the world in a way I never could before. I'm optimistic for the future, enjoying and making the most of the present, and thankful for my past. And all of this was possible because of something that burdened me with so much pain for so long.

I wouldn't change anything about my past, or erase the few years when I was that broken down version of myself. Because if I had, I wouldn't be who I am today, and I'm starting to like her.