Ten years can change so much…
It’s been ten years since I left the house for the first time in four years. See, I was agoraphobic. My anxiety had gotten to a point where I was too afraid to leave my house. And in the years before as well as during, I was starving myself. My mind was full of things that weren’t real. I needed to be thinner, but I was dying. I needed to be at home to be okay, but really what I needed was hospital treatment.
Those years were so tough. I would call my friend crying and saying that I needed to get out somehow. What they didn’t know was that I thought that was it for me. I had suicidal thoughts daily because I felt so trapped and lost and alone. I don’t know what it was like for my friends. I know they wanted me to go out and do ‘normal’ things with them, but I don’t know how they felt.
Meeting my husband was a turning point for me, but I didn’t get better for him. I did it because I knew new people wouldn’t stay around like my friends had. They knew me, he didn’t. Unfortunately, this was seen as me not being able to do it for them. Not true, he was just the little extra push I needed. They were still a big part of it and I cant help but want to let them know that.
So, it’s been 10 years and I’m sitting on my bed typing this and thinking, too much of course, about how I wish they could understand that I loved them all so much, and still do. You don’t stop loving people just because they aren’t around, especially those close friends.
Things happened, fights were had, communication was lost. And recently I started to talk to one of those friends again, and then another reached out, and we got to catch up. I wonder, if I wasn’t ‘the sick one’, would we have drifted apart like why did? Would we be super close now or would we be in the exact same position?
This isn’t me being down, just thinking and sharing it because that’s what I do. I write, and I post, and it feels good to get things out of my mind and let it go. I’m so amazed by how far I have come in the last ten years. I stopped starving, I don’t even know what I weigh because I know where that leads. I make myself go out, especially if anxiety doesn’t want me to, cause fuck anxiety.