As an incredibly indecisive, over-dramatic human being, I am constantly in a liminal state between accepting and rejecting help. When I faced issues in High School, I went to one counselling session. I left that counselling session with a positive mentality, reassuring myself that “hell yeah I’m going to sort myself out” and “life will be back on track!!” … the next day, the actual thought of physically “sorting myself out” completely terrified me, thinking about having to open up again to a counsellor and receive actual help for my issues made me want to sob. It was like the idealistic thought of all my problems going away were comforting, but the actual effort of trying to achieve recovery was DAUNTING. (I kind of unintentionally rhymed there, nice!)

As time continued, I would open up to my close Friends about my problems… and then dismiss them, claiming I was being “over-dramatic”. It was like admitting them only made it more real, and I did not want to go through recovery. I wanted to reach the end of the tunnel without inviting myself to go through it in the first place. I remember the first time I properly spoke to my Mum about my eating disorder, reassuring her that I would receive help and not let it control me. I booked a doctors appointment in the New Year, ready for the clean slate I thought I needed to truly sort myself out. I pictured this beautiful 2017 of eating meals whilst chanting “fuck you eating disorder!” and smiling at the pride of my recovery… However, I actually panicked the last minute before the appointment and just left the doctors. Like a lot of people, I just wanted to fall asleep and wake up with everything sorted. I wanted to wake up without a messy brain and a constant calculator clicking in my mind. I wanted unplanned meals and last minute nights out. I wanted confidence in my body and the darkness that had consumed my thoughts to wash away. But how could I achieve that when I couldn’t continue to reach out?

My mental health only worsened. This year has truly been the toughest. Every time I would cancel an appointment or counselling session, I told myself that I could recover on my own, that it hasn’t been serious enough to get any help! My life has recently been a continuous battle between seeking support and seeking my own independent strength. But I now know that I am not strong enough to deal with my bad brain alone. And that’s okay.  The pressure to resolve a whole person’s entirety of problems is way too overwhelming… even if they are your own.

So, I am finally going to try. I’m going to go to a second doctor’s appointment, no matter how much my gut sinks at the heavy weight of nerves, no matter how much my mind repeatedly tells me that this is all too real. I am going to accept what is said to me, reach out to those around me, take pride in finally giving myself the opportunity to get better. I know better days are coming. I just need to make sure I allow them a chance to arrive.


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