I am so proud of the fact that I'm getting better. :) I'm officially off antidepressants! Yet I've lost about 10kg till the start of this year, so I need to gain back the 10kg... :/ But I don't want to. 10kg is a lot. :s Yeah ok I know my bones are starting to show... but still.
Well, like the doctor said,
"Baby steps, Weiling. Baby steps." I'll slowly gain the weight back, and hopefully whenever I hop on to the scales, the statistics won't make me want to... y'know. :/ My doctor is awfully sweet though - she wrote a card to me, with the quote:
"A woman is often measured by the things she cannot control. She is measured by the way her body curves or doesn’t curve, by where she is flat or straight or round. She is measured by 36-24-36 and inches and ages and numbers, by all the outside things that don’t ever add up to who she is on the inside. And so if a woman is to be measured, let her be measured by the things she can control; by who she is and who she is trying to become. Because as every woman knows, measurements are only statistics and statistics lie."Really like thoughtful gestures like this, heartwarming indeed. :) Heh she was asking me how did being both anorexic and depressed felt like. And I'm so glad that she understood when I said I don't know how to put my feelings into words. I mean, sometimes you can't tell someone how you feel, not because you don't trust them, not because you're afraid of their impression of you afterwards, but because you can never really find the... right words to make them understand your feelings and the pain, agony and suffering associated with it.
For me, being depressed, it was like falling into this deep, dark pit in the dark ground and there was no way for me to get out of this hole. I was stuck in the darkness, unable to crawl out. All I could do was look up above me and watch other people happily laughing away, and they will laugh their troubles out and it'll tumble down into the hole with me and I was burdened more and more each day, even though it wasn't my troubles. Whenever I tried to pull myself out, I always fall back in. Always. And then I got exhausted of endlessly spiralling into hopelessness and desolation, and then I contemplated suicide. Not once, not twice, not thrice.... did I attempted suicide. Somehow, I always survived. But I got tired, y'know? Really, really tired. Burnt. Empty. I was happy, yes I was. There were days when I was happy. Laughter is contagious, afterall. But it was epheremal moments of joy, of happiness. Like I said, I always fell right back in to the darkness. Every night, I would pray that in my sleep, I would die. Every morning, I would curse for still being alive, I would cry. I had to drag myself to school, get absorbed in the cheerful ambience of school and when I return home, realized the bleakness of my life and fell deeper into the hole. I rose, I fell, I rose, I fell, I rose, and I'll ultimately fall again. I got better at fabricating lies, but I certainly wasn't better. Then somehow, things perked up and... gee, I don't know how to describe my process of recovery. It wasn't easy, but it was worthwhile.
And now, I'm happy. And my biggest wish in life? I want my face to be infallibly carved with laugh lines when I’m old and gray to reveal the happiness I’ve lived to know.
