Supposed To

I thought no longer being in hospitals or treatment centers, no longer being consumed by racing thoughts of food and disgust with my body everyday, and no longer feeling too weak to even get out of bed was supposed to make things better. Supposed to make me happier. Supposed to make me enjoy life again.

I wish I could say it has, but recently I’ve felt more defeated than ever. No I am not back to engaging in eating disordered behaviors or wanting to die, but I am wanting to curl up in my bed and shut the world out for a while.

The past 3 weeks have been hell, literally anything that could go wrong in my life has. I feel frustrated, overwhelmed, and sad. I want to stay in my house and cry for days until all the tears I’ve stored up have run out.

Things aren’t supposed to be like this. Bad things aren’t supposed to be happening to my friends anymore. I’m not supposed to be sad all the time.

This phrase “supposed to” has become a big part of my life that I can’t let go of. I tell myself there are so many things I’m supposed to be making up for, so many people to help, and so many experiences to have that I end up criticizing myself for wanting to sit in my house and be sad instead of doing these things. I’m not supposed to be sad though right?

Throughout my five years in treatment my doctors always told me that they reason bad things kept happening to my friends was because I surrounded myself with unhealthy people who were always in crisis or on the brink of dying. I cut every one of those people out of my life and filled my life with healthy “normal” people as much as I could. But right now I feel like things aren’t changing, bad things keep happening and I want to run away from it all. I’m starting to think there’s no such thing as a healthy person and people wanting to kill themselves or making unhealthy decisions will forever surround me.

I’m starting to think this is a lie the doctors and therapists told me, just like when my parents used to tell me that if I would just get better all of our family problems would disappear.

I don’t know how much longer I can do this, keep living in this world pretending to be happy and like everything’s alright. Pretending this world is so much better than living inside the confined walls of a treatment center. Because right now the two don’t feel much different, and I’m running out of hope.