So I matter now…
It got a little awkward there—those eight or more years when I would wake up every morning loathing my existence. I was in complete despair. I drowned in anxieties and insecurities and imperfections and deviations from the norm. I was meaningless. I didn’t understand that life was happy. I knew it was supposed to be, and that only made me feel guilty for the hatred and self-harm that took place in my cold heart. I was my worst enemy. I remember the hopeless mornings in front of the mirror and the fridge and then there was me, just awkwardly waiting for the moment when it would all end. I was weak and vulnerable and impressionable. People stepped all over me, rejected me, but largely ignored me. I isolated myself all those lonely days in the library eating carrot sticks or a nutrigrain bar.
Counting counting counting because that was the only thing that made sense. My steps, the calories, the times he told me he didn’t love me anymore. The number of people who became strangers to me. My weight, ACT score, GPA, grades. The dwindling number of friends who still liked talking to me. The hair that was falling out. My waistline. Counting and counting and stressing and being sad for far too long. That was my life, and it was worthless.
Now I count my blessings, and now I know I matter.