My 17th birthday, one of the worst days of my life. Every time it hit the 10th of December I promised myself I'd forget about the rules set by Anorexia. That I'd only do half an obsessive ritual. That I'd just be me. Obviously that all went to shit because you can't just forget about Anorexia and OCD, even if it is for one day. I spent the full day, forcing myself to walk around Manchester in freezing cold temperatures. I tricked myself into thinking the bare minimum was a treat. I cried in a restaurant over a pathetic children's meal whilst people stared at me, wondering why on earth I'm blubbering at the table. Because I said Anorexia wouldn't control me on my birthday - it came in full force. It made me feel like dirt for trying to eat in public. It made me feel like dirt for even trying to make myself feel anything else other than dirt. Waking up and accepting that a whole day was for me to celebrate my birth was a straight up, "you don't fucking deserve anything" and it tore me to bits.
The other day, when I took that photo, was also one of the worst days of my life. Funny, huh? I'm not skinny, I eat and I preach positivity. How could someone like me possibly have a bad day, as bad as my 17th birthday? Well. I am very much still Anorexic, I still struggle with the thoughts 24/7, I am still attached to my illnesses. That day, I had over 5 episodes which resulted in awful behaviour. I slip up very often - but you wouldn't be able to tell, would you? Bubbly, healthy Sacha. Stop deciding the severity of Anorexia on the number that comes up when they step on a scale. Stop deciding that a good day, month, year - means "recovered"
I am smiling, I am happier, I am healthier and I like to believe I make people want that for themselves too - but I am not recovered. This one's for the Mental Health Services across the world that base the amount of support they give on how many KG that person weighs. Educate, listen. Please. ✒️ #anorexiarecovery