On Sunday, it will be two years since I last binged and two years since I last threw up.
When I stopped, it felt as though I was wrenching out my heart. Now, it feels like I unclamped it.
I do not miss it at all. It does not cross my mind, apart from when some small, unpleasant reminder, like a shattered tooth or an unexpected flashback, make an unexpected appearance – and these certainly don’t tempt me back.
The first year was about existing through the days and the evenings; this year, it’s been about life. I do not need the film subscriptions and elaborately planned meals and scheduled phone calls to distract me any more; in fact, I rarely have enough time.
Even in my wildest imagination, I did not think it could be like this…
And so, I’m celebrating the occasion – as I did last year, and will do next year – as my unofficial birthday or the date that I allowed myself to come back to life.
It is, inevitably, tinged with sadness and a strange dusting of betrayal, though I could not say who betrayed who –
It does not matter.
The point is that I have had a second chance and I am starting, finally, to feel alive.