This is post #35 in
One of the things that is hardest about the aftermath of the eating disorder is the affect it has had on my desire to take care of myself. You see, when you are worthless and continually eating so much that you feel sick, it's pretty difficult to take care of anything. I could tell how badly I was doing by the fact that I generally didn't want to be clean. I didn't care about my appearance, because it was impossible that someone would want me this way. I let so many things go, and now I'm being forced to realize all the little habits I formed while I hated myself. I don't hate me anymore, in fact, when I look in the mirror now, I'm starting to look beautiful, maybe even sexy, a full woman where there used to be an ill-used shell for a brain. Mirrors were a bane of my existence for a very long time. Now I am starting to find them rewarding me, and it is a beautiful thing. I have craved beauty and not seen it in myself, and now I do. Mirrors are becoming a gift to me.
It all reminds me of the story of a mirror, which I will tell later...