Focusing on the bad

Sometimes it's easy to forget what's good in our life, what we've achieved. We forget how to be happy.

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Instead we focus on the bad, on every failure, every weakness.

There was a time in my life when being happy seemed out of reach.

I've been always particularly good at focusing on everything bad in me and my life. That's been something that came and increased with my eating disorder and sadly it didn't go away when I defeated the bulimia almost two years ago.

Bad habits are hard to break. Especially if that particular bad habit had time to fester over 12 years. I don't often talk about the negative aspects of my life, much less my bulimia. It's part of my wish to appear perfect in public. Because showing weakness makes you a failure, right?

So not right. But most of the time I can't see that.

Tonight's different. Maybe because it's <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />2 a.m. and I should be asleep.

Anyway.

My eating disorder started when I was 12 and the following 12 years, so half of my life up to that point, bulimia dictated my life. Being perfect, not only physically, was my main driving force. The numbers on my scale in the morning determined if I spent the day despising or tolerating myself. And every evening the scale decided if I spent the night lying awake, hating myself. That was my life for 12 years. It was everything for me and at one point I couldn't even imagine being without the bulimia no matter how self-destructive it was because how can you give up something that's been a part of you for half of your life? It seemed impossible but I knew I had to find a way to defeat the bulimia because my body was shutting down. It was tired of the throwing up, the inflamed throat, the stomach aches. I wanted to stop but I didn't know how.

And then came the writing.

It turned out to be my savior.

Writing became my safe-haven.

It made me happy, gave me fulfillment and filled the hours that I'd previously spent with eating, throwing up or counting calories.

But like with everything in my life, I couldn't just do it for my own enjoyment. I wanted more. I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted to be perfect because anything less would be unacceptable.

And for a while everything seemed to be good.

But once you've reached a certain point, you want more and you expect more from yourself.

You think maybe perfection is in your reach.

Perfect can be dangerous.

Everyone has a weakness, even if we don't like to admit it, much less hear it from someone else.

I let my fear of failure, my fear of my own weakness, ruin the happiness I'd found in writing. What had been my safe-haven became the source of my anxiety, increased my feelings of inadequacy. And I let it. Without a fight.

But you know what? That's over now.

I will get my safe-haven back. I will find happiness in my writing again. I will fight for it. Because it's worth it.

Sorry for the rambling post. I really should be sleeping. 2:30 a.m. by now.