a year and 11 months --- Neda Awareness Week

Earlier this morning, I looked at the Calendar and realized that it's almost been two years. It's almost been two years since I realized that I needed help, almost 2 years since I opened up and talked to someone. I also realize that I'm a little late to the NEDA Awareness week, but I don't think that they should only have one week to raise awareness for something that so many people are silently fighting.
I still can't imagine where I would be right now if i hadn't of had that realization. Where I would be if certain people in my life hadn't been there to ask me what was going on. There are so many people that have stood by me throughout the past two years and have made the hard days a lot easier.
Nobody told me that it would be easy to get better. You don't wake up and have everything go back to normal, although I wish it had been that easy.
The past year and 11 months have been such a huge journey, and sometimes a huge struggle. It's gotten to the point that the hard days become harder to come by, and it's taken almost two years for that to happen. It has taken so much time, and so much out of me but i've never been happier than I am.
1 year and 11 months, and I couldn't imagine my life the way that it has turned out. It's a huge step to open and talk to someone.
I can't imagine how hard it was for people to hear the things that were going on. I can't imagine what it must have been like to see someone that they care about and that they've seen for so long go through something and destroy their body the way that I did. It's not something that is easy to understand. It's not something that I could even begin to explain how it works. But for the past two years there have been so many people that have been there at 3 am when I needed to talk or just didn't want to be alone. I've spent the past two years working on myself, and figuring out what I wanted and where I want to end up. I've spent the last two years learning to love myself again without wanting to change myself. I've spent the last two years learning to love food. I've spent the last two years learning that the number on the scale or the number on your jeans does not define who you are. And that was probably one of the hardest things that I had to teach myself after spending so long thinking that it was all that mattered.
It's been two years.
There are still hard days and there are still days that I don't want to get out of bed or do anything. There are still days that I want to put on a big sweater and huge sweatpants and just curl up in bed by myself. There are still those days where I consider skipping a meal. But it's on those days that I see just how far I've come in the past two years. It's learning how to deal with your triggers and learning how to move forward from the bad days.
It hasn't been a perfect two years, and sometimes it's still hard to talk about what i was going through and how I came to accept the fact that I needed help. But sometimes talking about it can help you deal with it in a new way... and you realize that people do care.