I have no idea how I managed to go through eleven months of this hell.
Everyday there is at least one moment of discomfort, hot shivers and nausea stronger than the usual, and I struggle to fight back until, without noticing, it's gone. I'm so sick and tired of being this way, and I don't want this, and I hate that my own mother thinks I want to be this way. How could I want to feel sick all the time, to stop myself from doing what I want, to hide in my bedroom unable to even go to the post office? Going to bed is a struggle. Waking up is a struggle. Eating is a struggle. Going out is a struggle. Hanging out with people, sleepovers, concerts, shopping important meetings and appointments, it's all a struggle. How can you call yourself a mother and say I made myself sick because I wanted to?
I am wasting the best years of my life and just writing this makes me feel worse. The worst thing about that is that I know it, but it wasn't enough to make me tick and go back to normal. I know most people must think, "if you want it you can do it", but it's not that easy. Of course I want to feel better, I want to be normal and live my life. But if I truly had control I would never have started feeling this way.
I still struggle to imagine life without anxiety, emetophobia and anorexia. My three best friends. But I want to see this end. I want it to stop. It needs to stop. It's been a year too many. From day one it had been a day too many anyway.