My Butterfly's Journey

I remember walking into treatment petrified. In the past 3 days my had completely changed, I saw who I thought was my Best friend show his true colors, my boyfriend crying over thinking that he had lost me forever, and dropped out of school one quarter before I graduate. I was sitting there with weeks worth of personal items because I would be living in their facility. As the day dragged on after telling my story 10 times over and over again to complete strangers who would change my life was so emotionally draining. I was a ballet dancer. I was a very sick child. I was sexual abused. I am a survivor of a high school shooting... I became my story I was what people read about in books or on the news. I felt completely lost and alone. All I wanted to do was discharge "do my time" and go back on the "Outside"> the First two weeks I hated it. I felt like I was transported back into time when I was a small child who needed to ask for everything. I ...

As I make my second post I am trying to figure what to take about. Whether I talk about my experiences while I was in treatment or post treatment? Or should I share the ways I gained strength perspective and the biggest lessons I have leaned? Or a Combination?  That being said this blog is a Pro-Recovery Outlet for those who need reassurance in their own recovery. This is NOT a Pro-ana blog. Any comments about pro-ana will be removed.  I hope to answer any questions you may have about my story and my path so don't be afraid to ask.

Many of you have heard about my battle with anorexia. Your first thoughts are she wants attention, she is making it up. Well I wasn’t. A year ago my life was great. From the outside. I was a gifted student, had a steady job, and had a Nicholas sparks relationship. But it wasn’t times got hard with my boyfriend, I was struggling in classes, I hated my job, I couldn’t sleep. It was as though I was being burring alive in the stigma of perfection. Perfection ruled my life. My industry skills needed to be perfect, I had to look put together all the time. The only one who didn’t care was a man I went to school with. A man who I would soon spend every day with, ignore my family for, stay out until 3 o’clock in the morning. This man read me like a novel cover to cover. He had me hocked he knew how to make me hurt for him and with him. Almost every week he would make suicidal calls to me. I would go to the VA with him; I would calm him down when he lost his temper. Little did I realized th...