The eerie feeling that engulfs you, as you approach the morbid building. Instantly you wish you were somewhere else, anywhere that sorrow doesn’t reside.
It all started out, folded into a tiny ball, crying tears of disgust on the kitchen floor. With thoughts consuming my mind every second of everyday, the feeling of disappointment with my body was no stranger. Forty-eight pounds had vanished from my body, and yet I was still unsatisfied. Salty tears poured out of my eyes much like the clear water splashing out of a faucet. Next thing I know, I feel as light-headed as a balloon flying into space, and I am vomiting beyond control. Somethings not right.
Rushed off to the hospital, my tiny body with the resemblance of a shaky and fragile skeleton, is being pushed rapidly in a wheelchair. On my way to the emergency room, my nose filled with the familiar scent of medicine, and an over-powering aroma of sterilizer. The air is frigid, and the sheets are stale. My body is pierced with the sharp, angry needle attached to the IV bag, and the drip-drop of the fluid, is much like the pitter-patter of my heart beat.
Patients and their doctors passing by, some strolling along with hopes of recovery, but in my treacherous 14 hours held in this depressing place, most frantically rushed by. For most, you achieve recovery, but to the few unlucky bystanders like myself, this place is either your last destination, or home away from home.
If you have a story similar to mine, and you are having a harder time grasping help, don’t wait till it gets out of control like my eating disorder had. Go see a counselor, seek out the help from your loved ones, and just love your body. The road to recovery is complex, and you may back track occasionally, but the light at the end of the tunnel is in your reach.