Fear of Death and Considering my Legacy

Hey everybody,

My anxiety has been especially bad lately. I have been meaning to ask my doctor to prescribe me Ativan, which I have received from a different doctor in the past, but I keep chickening out.

In a hilarious twist of irony, after spending over a year killing myself slowly and experiencing periodic urges to instead do it quickly, I have been feeling pathologically afraid of death nearly all the time. I have been spending a majority of my time fearing freak accidents, violent attacks, and my heart finally deciding it’s done with my crap. Essentially, I am apparently under the impression that I am living in a Final Destination movie.

This fear of death has led to an obsession with the meaning my life would have if it suddenly ended today. In other words, I cannot stop thinking about my legacy. I feel this urgency to voice every thought, to take every action, to live every dream I have ever had. Today. It is stressful and burdensome and exhausting.

As I write this, I am quickly realizing that this is all I have to say on the matter. There is no real solution, and no larger message. But I feel significantly better just expressing these thoughts. So on the off-chance that I die in five seconds, the world will be aware that I felt this way.


How Far We’ve Come

The past few days have been rough; but ironically, it is during my lapses that I begin to truly appreciate how far I have come in my recovery. The life I am living now is one I could not have imagined just one year ago, and I now hardly remember the deep, dark hole where I used to spend every moment of every day.

When I think about the hell I lived in for much of the past year, I feel sickened. I cannot believe it was me who experienced that, and I have no idea where I found the strength needed to claw my way back towards life. This all might sound incredibly melodramatic, but I cannot overstate how absolutely awful I felt every single day for so long.

During this past year in recovery, I have eaten meals while wiping away tears, while gripping my utensils with trembling hands. I have eaten meals while my mind screamed at me over every single bite. I have eaten meals while feeling completely lost and alone, with no hope in the world for the future.

But through all that pain and suffering, I somehow managed to get here. I was able to move away from my parents’ house to a better living environment. I was able to return to school and see my friends again. I was able to socialize and meet new people. I was able to start dating an incredibly sweet, beautiful girl.

I still have bad days. But with each passing week, the bad days become fewer and farther between. I sometimes go an entire day without thinking about food. I have allowed somebody to see me naked. My life isn’t perfect, but it is good. Sometimes, I feel truly happy.

I could wrap this up with a moral about things getting better, and recovery not being a straight line, but that isn’t the purpose of this post. I just want to put everything in perspective, and to appreciate how far I have come in the past year.

December 8th will mark exactly one year since I began my first stay in the Day Hospital Program, and I plan to write another post to commemorate that milestone. Until then, I hope everybody is doing alright.





Dating a Woman?

This post will not be eating disorder-related, which is actually a good indication that my recovery is going well. I plan to write a post about that soon. This post will be about my recent journey in exploring my sexuality, and the exciting turn this journey has recently taken.

I will start with a quick background:

My first crush was on a boy named Gavin in my third grade class. Since Gavin, I have experienced countless crushes on boys and men, and continue to get these feelings now. However, when I was 12 years old, I began to think I might be attracted to women. I had feelings towards some of my female friends that felt different than feelings of friendship. I considered myself a Christian at the time, and these “sinful” desires TERRIFIED me. I would pray multiple times a day that I was not bisexual. At some point, I was sufficiently convinced that I was straight, and elected to never question my sexuality again. At the time, I thought that thinking about my sexual orientation too hard might change it, and that any deviation from “straight” would be a negative change. I lived the next several years of my life wholly convinced of my straight-ness. At one point, I did not even desire female friendship, and the idea of sleeping with a woman disgusted me. I now attribute these extreme feelings to internalized misogyny, and possibly an overcorrection from an attraction towards women.

It has now been over 2 years since I left the church, and slightly longer since my views on the LGBTQ+ community changed. After telling myself and others that I was straight for so many years, I continued to believe it for a while. But in the past few months, I have begun to explore my feelings towards women.

A few months ago, I told my friend that I thought a friend of hers (let’s call her J) was attractive. I didn’t expect anything to come of it, even when my friend told J about my feelings. Earlier this week, I was told that J wanted to meet me, because she’d been told about me yet we had never spoken in person. We met and talked for a while, and I really enjoyed myself. J is cool and interesting and so pretty. We began texting, then made plans for a date this weekend, then hung out and talked again today. This is all happening so fast, but it feels so right, and I am ridiculously smitten.

I don’t want to rush to label myself again.  I am still not 100% sure whether I am attracted to women in general. And if I am, there are still multiple labels to choose from. But I do know that I am attracted to this girl, and that is really, really exciting.