They Don't Understand It

I was just drinking hot tea and eating ice cream with my mom.
We were talking about things, you know, involving me.
It really makes me think sometimes.
My mom and I always wonder, what if?
Like, what if my life would have gone differently?
At this point I can see that everything that happened has happened for a reason, and has shaped me into who I am today, which I wouldn't change for anything.
Yet still, there's always that question, what if?
What if I would have stopped eating? Never cut myself? Never had depression? Never got anxiety? Never binged? Never purged? Never been suicidal?
I guess that would be like saying, what if I never made a mistake?
I know I'm not perfect, and I know I used to strive for perfection, yet now it seems so futile.
I was all focused on being perfect, and now I'm focused on surviving day to day life.
That's kind of scary to hear.
My mom agrees with me that I was always kind of depressive.
I mean I was a semi-happy child, I had my fun times, but there was just something about me.
Like I remember in elementary school when I couldn't stop crying and didn't want to go to school, so my mom took me to see a doctor and they said I just needed to get more sunlight.
With all I know about psychology now, doesn't something like that signal a spell of depression?
In middle school too, I seemed to be happy, but I don't remember being totally content or anything.
I felt ugly, like an outcast, like I could never compare to anyone else.
I actually remember my teachers loving my friends, and not paying attention to me.
I would strive for that attention, because I would get grades just as good as them, in fact I was probably the better person of the bunch, but I didn't get that attention from them.
I remember this one project I did in high school biology and my friends Lindsey and Dana and I made a video at my house.
Now, Lindsey and Dana are great people, and I still have respect for them, but we used MY camera, MY computer, MY house, MY script, and I even edited the project on my own time when they had to go home.
The catch here is they both got better grades than me.
I feel like I never got attention from teachers, besides one teacher I can think of (in public high school that is).
It was my ninth grade English teacher, and she was amazing.
We had this assignment called 'I come from' and we had to write a poem about it.
I read my poem to the class, which we all had to do, and when I started talking about my eating disorder (which wasn't straightforward or anything) she started to cry.
That was the only paper anyone in that class ever shared that made her cry, so I felt an immediate connection to her.
It was kind of like she understood me through my writing.
I remember writing another story about a girl and her imaginary friend who was perfect and she could never compare (or something along those lines).
When my 'friends' came over for my birthday last year, I had a long talk with my 'friends' Kayla and Sarah about my eating disorder.
They said that everyone noticed I was getting super skinny, and there were rumors going around that I was anorexic.
But they never said anything, not a word.
No one tried to help me at all.
Well, my friend Dana did, she offered to have her mom and her take me to see a doctor, but that didn't really end up happening.
I still to this day thank Dana for that, she was the only one who seemed to want to help.
The others' excuse was 'well we didn't know what to do' but they could have done something, anything, because everyone knew I was dying, but none of them wanted to help.
I hold a strong anger towards those people who stood back and didn't even ask me if I was okay.
How hard is it to ask your best friend if she's okay?
I remember my one friend Tara, who told me she was bulimic.
She had to have known I was struggling, I mean she was there herself.
Now Tara won't even contact me, nor Emily or Matt or Chelsea, the people who were in my section in band.
Neither will anyone in my old band section now that I think about it.
Well that was all Shane's fault, for turning everyone in the percussion section against me.
I don't want to go into details about that on my blog, but I will be totally honest and say almost none of that was my fault.
So, if I was around any of those people right now, and I didn't hold my anger inside of me, they would be getting a punch in the face.
It makes me so angry to think how people gossip about someone being anorexic or bulimic, basically watching them die, and not doing a thing about it.
This world makes me so angry sometimes.