[ WP ] `` I lost myself in you ... and when I found myself again , I was n't quite the same as I was before . ''

Dear Ana, 
 
 It ’ s been a while since we ’ ve seen each other. Everyone knows it ’ s for the best. More and more I ’ m realizing how true that is. 
 
 A lot has changed for me. I graduated college, and got a job as a kindergarten teacher. I have a modest number of friends. I ’ ve hung out with these friends every weekend for the past six months, except for when I have to make lesson plans. I ’ m even dating someone new, something I wasn ’ t sure would ever happen after you entered into my life. We ’ ve only been on three dates, but I have a feeling we're going to have a lot more. 
 
 I have all of the things that I wanted but never could have with you. 
 
 I don ’ t want you to think that I regret any of our time together. Was it a happy time in my life? No. Not at all. It may sound crazy, but in the end, I ’ m grateful to have had you in my life. 
 
 For five years, you ate away at and destroyed my emotional and physical well-being. You made me feel like I was worthless and the only thing that people would ever value me for was how I looked. You made me lie to everyone that cared about me, made me vehemently deny anything wrong and assure them that I was just fine. You caused me to lose my friends. You made me drop out of college. You put me in and out of the hospital, and later, you put me on my death bed. Until three years ago, you had taken away everything I once had. For five years, I was okay with that. 
 
 The moment that stands out the most to me was when you told me I didn ’ t need space. No, not just that I didn ’ t need space. That I didn ’ t deserve it. That I was, in every sense of the word, a waste of space, and a burden. When you told me that, I lost every sense of myself as a human being. I was just a large vessel, taking up space. A big, empty vessel. 
 
 The funny thing is, you sounded just like my mother when she told me that I was too heavy for a piggyback ride at age five. 
 
 Three years ago, you put me on my death bed. At five feet and seven inches, I weighed a pitiful 83 lbs., more than half of my hair had fallen out, and the only time I could muster up the strength to stand was when I had to do my daily set of a five hundred jumping jacks while the nurses weren ’ t looking. Usually, it would take me the whole day to get through them. Most days, I couldn ’ t do more than three at a time. I did it because you told me, among other things, that in order for me not to be a burden on anyone I had to do those five hundred jumping jacks every day. 
 
 It was only at the moment that my father visited me in the hospital for the seventh time that I decided that the only burden I was placing on those around me was you. When I tried to stand up to give my father a hug, but my legs wouldn ’ t hold up, and I collapsed back onto my bed, he cried. My dad never cries. I swore to myself wasn ’ t going to let you make him cry anymore. 
 
 The recovery process wasn ’ t easy. I spent several months struggling to eat just half of what a normal person eats in a day. What no one tells you is that after a while, it ’ s not just that you don ’ t want to eat. Sometimes, your body just won ’ t let you. 
 
 But little by little, I cut down that number of jumping jacks every day. Little by little, I ate more each day. Little by little, I stopped seeing myself as an empty vessel, but rather, as someone who deserved to take up space. 
 
 The other patients I met in the hospital changed me forever, and for the better. When things like you enter into someone ’ s life, it ’ s easy to forget that you aren ’ t alone. Celebrities in our situation are always on the news, but in real life, our struggles are often invisible or ignored until they can ’ t be anymore. We were all experiencing our own personal battles, but we were fighting these battles together. I still keep in contact with most of the people I met in my ward, and yes, we sometimes hang out on the weekend. We have that freedom now. 
 
 The last few weeks I spent in the ward were the hardest and yet the most pivotal in my life. As the nurses began to tell me that I would likely be released soon, something was telling me that I didn ’ t want to be. That I couldn ’ t go out into the world recovered, and happy. I didn ’ t know who I was as person who wasn ’ t dying to be thin. Somehow, I felt as if I found myself at the beginning of my recovery, only to be lost again at the end. 
 
 Two weeks from my discharge date, I finally realized I didn ’ t need to be deathly thin to be someone. I had been sharing my feelings about leaving with my fellow ward mates, when they said something to me that I will never forget. 
 
 “ You never really find yourself, once and for all. You ’ ll have a whole lifetime to find yourself over and over again if you make out of here. ” 
 
 Three years later, I find the truth in that statement every day as I learn something new about myself. Two years ago, I found that I ’ m a Buffy the Vampire Slayer fanatic. Four months ago, I discovered that I ’ m a natural at ice skating. Just yesterday, I realized that I ’ m the person who will give any of my kindergartners a piggyback ride, no questions asked. 
 
 At the moment, I ’ m struggling to eat the leftover pepperoni pizza from last night. I don ’ t know why we ’ re talking tonight, or why you show up once every few months or so. Sometimes, although I don ’ t want to admit it, it ’ s more frequent. 
 
 As I make my way through my meal, I feel myself becoming closer and closer to saying goodbye to you. At least, for now. I know that you ’ ll ebb and flow in and out of the rest of my life, sometimes when I don ’ t expect it. When you come around, it will always be hard not to listen to you. But, if I get lost in you again, I will eventually have the strength to find myself over and over again. 
 
 Thank you for showing me the value of my life without you. 
 
 Sincerely, 
 
 Someone you might know.
