at the end. at the beginning.
Two words I have written again and again in my lifetime. I have journal pages from my angst filled teen years that repeat again and again: if only I were thin.
I will eat better. I will lose weight.
This is the last time I’ll ever write these words.
Full of promise, optimism, enthusiasm.
Plans to achieve a goal. Plans to overcome the demons that I fight.
The hope of an end where I am thinner. Prettier. More lovable. More acceptable. Everything will come after day one.
Except, I have never finished.
I have never achieved my goal.
I have fallen backward, feeling broken, feeling so out of sorts with my own body. Feeling let down, betrayed, hopeless, angry, frustrated and lost in this skin. Feeling so utterly wrong.
Feeling like I don’t belong anywhere because I have failed time and again. My past successes, unrecognizable in this current state. You wouldn’t know how capable I was for a brief moment, how strong, how beautiful I felt – how empowered I was on that day when the scale said 199.
And how, I keep failing to have long term success because something is broken. Some part of me has given up the hope of ever achieving anything past the first day.
I have an image of myself, as BEAUTIFUL, average, normal. It’s the vision of me in my mind, and then I see a snapshot – and I am utterly mortified. How did I become the fat girl again?
I am not in a good place. I feel very run down.
I don’t know if I can do it again.
And if I do. It has to be the last Day One that I ever embark on. Because from that day forward, everything has to be permanently different.