Beautifully Broken

For You I Shall Live

It's funny how quickly a realization can wash over you, and how in that instant your life changes forever. These are not meaningless wisps of knowledge that can sail in one ear and out the other as soon as it is no longer useful, but instead something that leaves a mark on your soul, forever a reminder of why things are.

Tomorrow will mark two years since I lost my best friend, Jessica, to the monster we call an eating disorder. And for two years I have walked around, carrying the pain, the guilt, the confusion. I questioned why so many times. Why her? Why not me? She wanted recovery, I didn't. She was motivated, I wasn't. She saw the good in the world and in everyone she met, I walked around bitter- pushing away anyone who tried to help me. I am not lying or exaggerating when I say that Jess wanted recovery more than anyone I'd ever met. Nor would it be an exaggeration to say she had the most beautiful soul I ever came across. And yet, on November 27th, 2011, Jess was taken from this world just one week past her twenty- eighth birthday.

After losing Jess I found myself engulfed in a blanket of pain, anger, and sadness. At her Celebration of Life so many people hugged me tight and made me promise that I would recover, if not for myself, for Jess. People told me it's what she would want, that I had to keep my family and friends from going through this with me, even that if I didn't recover her death would be in vain. I made these promises, promises I did not know if I could keep, promises that, at that point, I did not want to keep.

I was twenty years old. I was filled with unspeakable grief. I believed that asking me to live without my best friend was selfish. I wanted to die, I wanted to be with her again. And so I spiraled.

I retreated to the darkest corner of my mind, isolating from anyone and everyone who loved me or wanted me to recover. In my quest for a quiet mind the pounds fell off leaving me a hollow shell of my former self. The monster that ruled my every move stormed through my life and the lives of those who loved me, leaving behind a trail of tears and destruction.

So there I was, in that first year since Jess' death, kicking, fighting, screaming , crying, and starving. It lasted a solid year and in that time I was hospitalized twice, went to treatment twice, moved from St. Paul to Duluth, and in an attempt to run away from my pain, ultimately hit my rock bottom.

It was around this time that I experienced realization number one.

Jess never left me.

In my attempt to cope without my best friend, secretly praying to be back with her again, I failed to realize that Jess, while physically gone, had never really left. She was still there at the important moments. She graced my thoughts and visited me in my dreams. She painted beautiful pink sunsets across the sky that reminded me she was watching over me. There is no doubt in my mind she is the reason I survived that first year, she became my guardian angel when one was needed most.

Another year has now passed and although I've stumbled, tripped, and even fallen on my face a couple of times; I have found myself in the longest, most stable place in recovery I have ever been. It still shocks me when I think about how far I have come. Never in all of my years of battling anorexia did I ever think that I could achieve any semblance of recovery. I was told my case was severe and chronic. Therapists told me that I would likely struggle my entire life. Their goals centered around keeping me medically stable enough to not be in the hospital. We were avoiding crisis. Never did I think I was so close to the beginning of being able to live a full and happy life.

I'm not saying it isn't hard. I am not saying the pain has ceased. I still miss Jess. I still cry. I still have days where I'm depressed, where I don't want to eat, or get out of bed, or do the things I know will make me feel better. I still have days I question why. I still believe it isn't fair.

However, now I have days where I smile. I eat meals out with my family without tension or fighting. I am able to go out for a drink with my friends. Now I wake up in the morning with the energy to go to work and be successful. Now I am able to hold a job, without constant worry about what will happen the next time I am inevitably hospitalized. Now I am able to communicate using my voice, instead of my body.

Which brings me to realization number two. This one is a lot harder to stomach, and something I have only once spoken aloud.

My best friend's death ultimately saved my life.

That has probably been the hardest truth to come to grips with, but looking back I honestly don't believe I would have ever been able to take the steps necessary to save my life. I didn't have the strength, I didn't have the motovation. In the words of Macklemore,

"We live on the cusp of death thinking that it won't be us.."

When Jess died that illusion of invincibility was shattered. The reality of my own mortality was thrust in my face. I could no longer pretend that it couldn't happen to me.

My best friend inadvertently gave me the greatest gift that one can give. She saved my life at the cost of her own.

Do I feel guilt?

Everyday.

Will I ever take that gift for granted?

Absolutely not.

I love you Jess, you will forever be my other wing.

For you, I shall live.

An Unconventional Introduction

When introducing oneself many state their name, age, hometown, occupation, etc. These are things that would describe me but they are not me. My name is Rosemary Cecelia, I am named for my two grandmothers. I am 22. I grew up in Metro Detroit. I am a manager at a popular restaurant.
Many would say one of my greatest strengths is my perseverance, while one of my greatest flaws is my stubbornness. I find it funny that these two traits are essentially two sides of the same coin. I guess it goes to show that nothing in this world is black and white but instead a million different shades of gray.
I have struggled to find life between the black and white. So often in an attempt to make sense of the nonsensical I have found myself trying to put things in one of two categories. Everything must either be good or bad, right or wrong, happy or sad, safe or dangerous, perfect or flawed to the point of worthlessness.
This black and white mindset has caused a great deal or turmoil. In an attempt to take back control of a life that for so long did not belong to me I found control in food. In what I ate, or more often, in what I didn't. An eating disorder was a result, and in my desperate fight for control anorexia took over and left me spiraling so far out of control that I spent more of my adolescence and young adult years locked up in hospitals and treatment centers. With every moment of everyday, with every calorie consumed, with every pill taken dictated by others. Having your false sense of being in control ripped from your grip is humbling and infuriating. And after roughly seven consecutive years of being shuffled from hospital to treatment center, to home, and back to the hospital to restart the cycle I finally decided enough was enough.
Its not that I didn't try to fight before my 21st year but the motivation to recover was often motivated solely by the desire to leave the hospital- knowing somewhere in the back of my mind that I would only relapse.
When did things change? I am not sure I could pin point an exact moment but a number of events and realizations built upon each other and the result was the motivation and determination to truly recover. Just as I had seen countless times in various other aspects of my life, my stubbornness was my biggest obstacle and yet my perseverance undoubtedly saved my life.
I am still uncovering these things, day by day. It's a process.