{recovery isn't what they said it would be}

recovery isn't what they tell you it is 

it's not tumblr 

it's not pinterest

it's not coffee shops and road trips and sunrises and running away to a stranger city where no one knows your name

it's not 

recovery isn't a boy to kiss your scars or hold you when you're falling apart or tell you that everytime you hurt yourself you hurt him too 

recovery isn't still skinny and pretty or eating a pint of ice cream because you can 

recovery isn't him begging you to 'please just eat..for me'

it's not always supportive parents who recognize your struggles and respect them, or therapists and nutritionists and meal plans

it's not #anarecovered as you show off your thigh gap, or #edrecovered in a crop top and perfectly flat stomach. 

sometimes it's the opposite. 

sometimes its crying over size tags and dinner and breakfast and lunch 

sometimes it's shaking on the bathroom floor because you want/need the crimson so badly you can't even breathe

sometimes it's parents who refuse to even acknowledge you need help and insist that you're fine, you're always fine

sometimes it's tears standing in front of the dressing room mirror because the number on that tag whisper-beats into your head that you are fat you are worthless

sometimes recovery is relatives commenting that you've gained weight, asking why you're not skinny anymore, offering to buy you diet pills, critically glancing at everything you place in your mouth

it's wondering why other people are allowed to be recovered and simultaneously skinny and why that paradigm breaks down with you, and somehow you're not

sometimes it's hating friends, hating yourself, because it took them asking you to do them a personal favor in order for you to finally throw out the blades you'd carefully stashed at the bottom of the drawer as proof of strength.

sometimes it is harder hell than everything you're trying to be free from 

because at least before when you were alone you had your demons for company but what do you do now?