I found out something today that I suppose most would find troubling. In some sense, I do find it to be a concern. But I feel...good that I know it. My feelings, they terrify me.
But you know what's beautiful about that? I'm more terrified of my feelings than I am of fat.
I don't think I've ever been more afraid of something than I was of getting "fat" before.

I am writing and I feel a sweet, innocent sadness welling up inside me. It is little Amy who stayed silent for a long time. It's me at four, me at eight, it's me shut up inside a closet hiding from the monster at home. It's the feelings that I shoved into the cold silence of dieting and self hatred. No feelings, no hurt. No life. Nothing.

I am so alive and in pain right now. I am remembering things I must have blocked, and it's so beautifully sad. It's very painful. But it's something besides fat and thin. It's real.
It's what I've been avoiding for so long.

It's just the beginning. 

My eating has been off and on, a roller coaster full of confusion. It is hard to tell when I am hungry. It's very hard to tell if I want food or if I want comfort. It's hard to tell if one bite will be the icing on the cake to the beginning of a panic attack.

Someday I know I'll be able to go sit at a restaurant and look at the food as food. Not as "safe" or "scary" or "bad". I will order what I want and I'll eat it and I'll go on with whatever else I'm doing. Because I'll be doing so much, so much more than this thing. And people will know me as so many things. So many things. But not as sick.

I really miss my big brother.