What I cannot change
Loosely inspired by @NotAWitchDoctor list
- •My traumaI can never go back and fix what went wrong. I can't go back and tell my seven year old self to dress differently or not to cry in school. I can't tell 12 year old Kate to play flute instead of being a drummer or 18 year old Kate to say no when that boy asked her out on a date. I can't tell her that he seems to good to be true because he is too good to be true.
- •The time I lost in treatmentThis would involve going all the way back to when I skipped the first meal or found out that under eating made me feel better instead of worse like most people. The moment I learned that was when I sealed my fate. It was only a matter of time. I treaded water for 8 years before ending up hospitalized. I lost a year and a half impatient but it was inevitable. My illness is biological, sociological and psychological. There was no avoiding it. I was genetically primed to crash.
- •My depression and anxietyThey will both always be a part of me. Sometimes managed by medication better than other times. But still existing. It's a reality I struggle to come to terms with but it's a harsh truth. I don't include my PTSD or eating disorder because there is a very real part of me that hopes someday I will completely recover from these illnesses. That they aren't static but are changeable and will vanish (or at least significantly improve) as time passes and I continue with therapy.
- •My love of dogsI firmly believe this is a fundamental element of my being. When I was so so sick that I know longer knew who I was this was the absolutely only thing I knew about myself - that I loved dogs. If I didn't loose that knowledge when I was so malnourished my brain couldn't identify who I was then I don't think it's ever going away.
- •My history with my parentsIt's a messy one surrounding my illnesses. Hurt feelings, betrayal, anger and so much more. We can move on and we have done so but the history won't be going away. It will always be there to haunt us in the worst moments I truly believe.
- •The memories of people who helpedDuring the worst moments of my trauma and of my illness there were people who showed up. Who helped me. Sometimes strangers. Sometimes friends I don't even talk to anymore. Sometimes teachers or mental health professionals. The memories of their kindness in my most desperate moments will never leave me.