This is it: My final evening before the flight that will change my life.

As I pack away my last item on Shades’ “packing checklist,” I feel a prodigious flurry of emotions come over me. Among them: fear, anxiety, worry, anticipation, weakness, excitement, joy, relief, hope, faith, strength, and so many others. Potently, however, is the indescribable feeling brought to me by all of your support, reassurance, and love for me during this time. In all honesty, coming out with my story was something I thought I would regret. My social life was impaired enough from my illness, and I thought that by putting out so much honesty about something very people can understand would only make people think I was even more of a pessimistic, shy aberration. Never, in my wildest of dreams, could I EVER have imagined that I would be writing this today, thanking not only those of my community, but absolute strangers across the globe. I could not have asked for a bigger blessing than the feedback and results of my honesty. I wrote/spoke to you that first time fearing what would happen, yet feeling compelled in my heart that I needed to do it. Now, look at what has become. Furthermore, although riding the waves of hope with which you all had provided me since my first video/post, I have only further deteriorated, as you all well know. In brutal honesty, I know that I was not about to stop fighting, but I also know that I did not have much longer. I can feel my body shutting down, my heart taking much too long between beats, my aching muscles as they break themselves down for energy and all of the other grotesque details and consequences of the life of an anorexic. I knew that between the insomnia and depression, my self-harm was way out of control and who knew if that would only speed up the process. Secretly, I was visualizing who would show up to my funeral, and crying at the disappointment everyone would feel that I wasn’t—like you had told me—strong enough to beat this. Then, astoundingly and entirely unexpectedly, my mother and I haphazardly turn on the TV to Dr. Oz and find that the episode is on anorexia. My mother, who thought watching it would only make me upset, advised me to not watch it; yet, I went upstairs with my curiosity at peak. Through the anger, frustration, and overpowering sadness conveyed during their topics, the founder of a treatment center spoke at one point. Already having called EVERY ED center in America, I was certain that this one would be no exception to the ridiculously costly rates, and frankly, I just could not handle that devastation that day. Later on, however, in midst of my monotony, I decided to check it out. Originally, I had never looked in to it before because it advertised as an “addiction treatment center.” Sure enough, though, a short browsing on their sight gave me some seemingly promising prices to relay to my parents. Three phone calls to the admission/financial lady and one day later, it was set: I was flying out this Sunday (tomorrow) evening. At first thought, I was uncertain. Despite my parents’ eagerness, I did not want to further dampen their financial woes. Four hospitalizations, weekly therapy and doctor appointments, plus my youngest sister’s spleen/gallbladder surgery this coming Thursday—the bills were already insane and no way would another $30,000 one make things any more manageable. They promised me, though, that it was okay; what I needed to do is go get control of my life again, so that I can change lives and follow my dreams. So, to sum up, as I spend the next handful of hours waiting for my flight, I know that I was given this chance for a reason, and I will not let anyone down. Going to residential does not mean I will come back “cured,” because anorexia does not work like that. It is a life-long battle that I will have to fight for the rest of my days, but this treatment will provide me with the tools I need to FIGHT and WIN. I will slip up and have rough days, I will cry and want to quit, and there will come a point when I don’t feel I can carry on; but, I will not let those days, nor my ED, define me. I will fight for every single person struggling, no matter their situation or how difficult it may be. I have never been a believer in hope or faith in darkness or that good things can come from ruins. I have now learned, though, that hope is always present, we are just blinded from it at times. And I have also learned that beauty, in all its complexity and pureness, truly does live within the ashes. All my love and warmest of wishes to you all, until my return. ❤

~ by candyshele1204 on June 16, 2012.