I've spent my life looking for the best version of myself in the novels that sit on my bookshelf.
I don't know what exactly I'm hoping to find, maybe a beginner's guide to healing.
Broken. A mess. Traumatized. Sad.
Those are all true.
Strong. Brave. Passionate. Kind.
Those are all true.
Healing is a weird process for myself in particular.
When I began, I guess I thought it would be a quick thing; everything made better by sunrise.
And here I am, years later, and not a whole lot has changed.
I still find parts about myself that I despise.
I still am fighting for a balance with my eating disorder.
And every day, I have to remind myself that every day is a new day; a clean slate.
My fight isn't over yet.
My story isn't what most expect it to be.
I don't glorify the healing process.
**** gets hard for me.
It's still so hard to get up in the morning and eat something healthy.
I have to remind myself that I am strong and good enough every day.
I have to look in that mirror and tell myself "you're ******* worth it"
And I am ******* worth it.