I didn’t care what it took. I was going to beat this. I was going to blast my way through it and face every fear I’d ever had. I’d done it before with my eating disorder and I was going to do it now.
I was not going to run away. I was going to stare it right in the face and tell it to fuck the hell off. I didn’t need it. I just did it because it was habit. I just did it because it seems I had always done it.
But I hadn’t. I hadn’t done it for a long time and suddenly, in a new environment, I had started doing it again.
To fit in?
To make people more comfortable?
What about making me comfortable? It did, I guess. For a little while. But then the reality set in.
I actually liked reality. It helped me to see things as they really were. I didn’t want to pretend. Yet I had been pretending that I was doing it for myself. I was doing it for others.
I wasn’t doing anything like that for anyone else anymore. If I wanted to do it again, I would do it for me.
Because really, I was the most important person to consider. Fuck the rest.