GirlSense and NonSense Spring 2015 | Page 16

Goodbye 2014, I won’t miss you. You taught me things I should have never learned, and now I will spend my entire 2015 trying to un-learn them. The problem is, is that it’s going to take more than a measly 365 days to teach myself differently. 2014, you taught me how to starve and count calories. You taught me how to eat under 900 calories a day. You taught me that being skinny was more important than health. To this day, and for several days ahead, I am going to have to teach myself that I don’t need to be 100 pounds to be comfortable in my body. I have to teach myself that because nobody bothered to tell me—because you, 2014, wouldn’t let me hear it.

I hate being a quitter and I will do anything to not be one. But you made me one, 2014. You urged me to quit—you even took away my motivation. You took away the things that pushed me to go on and accomplish my goals. You made my goals seem insignificant. You bastard. How dare you strip that away from me? How dare you make me out to be a quitter?

So, with my head held high, I am standing hand in hand with 2015. My heart aches, my scars burn, and the anger welling up inside my chest might just rip a hole through my throat, but I will walk on. I will take it step by step with 2015 as I re-wire my brain. It might take 730 days or even 1,095 days to get where I should have been before, but I will make it there. Whether it be 2015 that’s finally holding my hand, or 2017. Either way, damn you, 2014, for setting me up for failure. Damn you for holding me back. Damn you for what you did to me. My middle finger is raised high to you, and a smile is stretched across my face as I turn my back towards you and proceed to sprint in the opposite direction. So goodbye and good riddance. I won’t miss you.

Goodbye 2014, I won’t miss you. You taught me things I should have never learned, and now I will spend my entire 2015 trying to un-learn them. The problem is, is that it’s going to take more than a measly 365 days to teach myself differently. 2014, you taught me how to starve and count calories. You taught me how to eat under 900 calories a day. You taught me that being skinny was more important than health. To this day, and for several days ahead, I am going to have to teach myself that I don’t need to be 100 pounds to be

comfortable in my body. I have to teach myself that because nobody bothered to tell me—because you, 2014,

wouldn’t let me hear it.

2014, you were the worst teacher I’ve ever had. You taught me to use a rubber band. You told me that it was better. Safer. That it didn’t leave marks. You lied. It was just as addicting and just as hurtful. It left its mark and it left another scar. You whispered in my ear that I was doing the right thing as I snapped away and I believed you. You pushed me into relapse and I will never forgive you for that.

By Surviving Wintergirl