September 27th, 1994

It is the date that graces my driver’s licence. It’s the date I repeat to the nurse doing my blood work before she returns my health card. It is the day that I was born. And in about one hour, it will have happened exactly 21 years ago.

I used to love my birthday. I would tell anybody who would listen and some who wouldn’t that my special day was in two weeks, one week, three days, today! I felt like a princess all day long.

But tomorrow is my 21st birthday, and to be honest, I wish it wasn’t. I wish I could postpone this birthday until a happier time, or just skip it entirely.

I don’t want to think about how malnourished and depressed I was on September 27th of last year. I don’t want to think about the year since that day, and how it just feels like a WASTE. How instead of going to lecture, I was going to the hospital. And instead of writing math tests, I was having blood tests. I don’t want to think about it any more than I already do.

I also don’t want to think about how much more I weigh. In the past month, I have reached my highest weight since Summer 2013, and I have a feeling it has increased more since my therapist last weighed me. September 2014 Sarah may have been miserable, but she was lighter.

More than any of this, I don’t want to be happy. Or rather, I don’t want to PRETEND to be happy. I don’t want this internal pressure to enjoy the day I used to love so much, or the external pressure to just get over myself and be GRATEFUL. I am a white, cisgender, middle-class individual living in Canada, and people who love me are giving me presents! What do I have to be sad about?

On second thought, the pressure to be grateful may be internal as well.

In about 45 minutes, I will officially be 21 in the Eastern Time Zone. And I still wish that wasn’t the case.


In Semi-Crisis

I’ve been neglecting this blog lately; I apologize.

I’ve mainly been sharing my thoughts on my YouTube channel, Sarah Hill. That will probably change soon, as I recently moved into a student house with thin walls, and 4 of my 5 housemates are unaware of my eating disorder.

Anyways, the reason I am posting here now is that I am freaking out.

I have been working so hard to get my eating back on track, but this past Monday, I weighed in at my highest weight in over a year. I could not cope with the fear that my weight would continue to increase, so I began restricting again.

I have work today for 5.5 hours. And on Saturday for 6 hours. And on Sunday for 6 hours. And I am anxious. And I’m depressed. And I am so, so tired.

Also, my birthday is in 9 days and my parents are proposing lunches and dinners and cake, and I don’t have the heart to tell them that I’m struggling again.

I wish I could go home and hide under the covers and write off this entire day, but I have to pay rent, do that isn’t an option. So I’m venting here.

I hate writing conclusions. So this is where I’m going to end this post. I’m sorry this isn’t very cheerful or optimistic.