I feel like making a confession tonight. Okay. Yea, I realise a lot of you may have me labelled as "pro-ana." Can I just say, um, ew? No? I'm not. It's not a choice, not really. It's a mental disorder caused by traumatic events. Which leads me to explaining myself. But I can't, not in so many words. But. Um. How do I put emotions into words? It doesn't do it justice, it just doesn't. I've always been very naïve. I was that girl who talked to strangers, introducing myself and offering a hug and a handshake, speaking my mind. Even if that meant asking my mother's employer why she was a lady with a beard on bring-your-daughter-to-work day. When I was young, the exact age eludes me, my mentally disordered, teenaged next-door-neighbor told me to give him a kiss. I giggled and said "okay." Things happened every day for a while; I don't really know for how long. I didn't quite realise that anything was the matter until another kid witnessed some stuff and ran to tell my mother. Mom says that when she came outside, he was holding me down on the ground. I remember that. I remember getting caught making me feel disgusting and filthy and horrible. But these emotions faded with time, and I forgot. He got sent to a mental institution after threatening someone on our street that he'd chop them up, and proceeded to get out an axe and swing it around while chasing them. Life was pretty peaceful for a while. I was never the same though. I occasionally played games with my friends that involved a lot of sexual stuff, and this I do recall, as I was getting older. Nobody told me it was strange or wrong. I thought it was normal and acdeptable. In fourth grade, my family moved. New school, new kids, new town. I don't know why, but for whatever reason, two of the girls took a particular interest in me. Not in a bitchy way, but in a romantic way. I, the good little christian girl that I was, didn't even know that girls could date other girls. My two new "friends" played games with me like my old neighbour... After a year, and after one of them called me her girlfriend, I realised what was going on and I started to remember. And it made me want to die. I felt filthy and disgusting, no matter how much I scrubbed my skin and prayed to God. I cut off all connection with these two, feeling horrible about myself. By now, forcing myself to forget was a coping mechanism. Eventually, I did forget. And then I entered Middle School, and met a boy. He was a nice boy, really. I hold nothing against him at all. He didn't hurt me, or take advantage of me. He respected me and we were normal, perfectly typical 13-year-olds. We went to movies with his parents and ate at restaurants. But there was something wrong with him that I had never heard of or even fathomed. He would get really sad, and he'd get a knife and cut his arms. Around this time, my cousin (and best friend) also began doing this. I was horrified. For some reason, he and I stopped talking after about a year of a shaky, too-nervous-to-hold-hands relationship. And again, I forgot. Simple. I didn't date anyone for two years after that. I wanted to wait until I was 16. I entered high school at age 15 with this ideaology. I made new friends and resurrected some old ones. I became close with people and again, was overly trusting. This one bitch manipulated me so badly, that she had near total control of me for about two years. Luckily, I met this amazingly wonderful young man who was deeply troubled but also compassionate and had fantastic hopes and dreams for his future, and who also happened to have very similar video game tastes to me. He became my second best friend, and wow. He's now my boyfriend and my best-best friend. I could sing praises to this amazing boy of mine for forever, but I'm getting off topic here. So this bitchy girl. She started saying things like "Oh, I was rapes when I was little." I thought, "poor girl!!! I'm glad nothing like that ever happened to me." And it was thinking this that I gradually began remembering things. It was like a bucket of disgust and self-hate had been slowly filling itself above my head for years, like a trap-wired door; all I had to do was knock on the door, and the bucket suddenly dumped itself on my head, filling my eyes with flashbacks and feelings of worthlessness and disgust. I mentally punished myself for thinking or feeling anything remotely sexual. Bombarded myself with hate. Sadly, for my lovely boyfriend, this is when he and I began dating. I refused to kiss him on the lips until 3 months after we were dating. This is also when I began restricting my diet. When I began to really really hate myself with a passion. It was fueled easily by my father, who decided to become healthy and talked nonstop about fat, calories, exercise, and weight. I was naturally skinny. But I somehow managed to drop 15 pounds in a few months. Control-freak-psycho-bitch literally had my friends hold me down as she shoved ice cream down my throat. She told me it was because they cared about me, that they were doing this. I started eating again, but only to avoid that torture. For two years.. I can't even begin to describe how much she said and did to us all. We pitied her. We worshipped her. We cut ourselves for her. Yes, we freaking CUT OURSELVES. For HER. If it weren't for my amazing boyfriend... idek. I'd be dead. But yea. So case and point is; I'm not pro-ana. I have a mental disorder and I can't help it. It's how I cope. It's called EDNOS. I also consider myself asexual, because I menally am just at my limit and now I don't feel any sexual desires at all. And trust issues. And anxiety. So please. Idk who you are or what your story is, but I'm not judging anyone. So please refrain from judging me and my choices. I need my ED brothers and sisters, so I can be accepted and loved, instead of always being told how wrong I am, how stupid, how filthy and despicable. Wow, this was a long confession... my apologies. Well. Now you know. If you read this far. Goodnight. xoxo
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