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I remember the exact moment when I decided that I was ready to recover from my eating disorder.

It was just after a massive binge and I was lying on my bathroom floor crying.

I felt empty, defeated, alone but more importantly, I was tired.

I was tired of spending every single day being obsessed with food. Thinking about what to eat, when to eat, how much to eat or should I eat at all.

I wanted my mind back.

The struggle with food had been going on for so long that I couldn't remember what it was like to not constantly feel like I was at war with it. Or with my body.

After constantly thinking that "ifI could just get it to look the way I wanted it to look I'd feel better about myself," I finally realized that the pursuit of "the perfect body" was killing me more then the fact that I didn't have it.

It was killing my joy, stealing my peace, preventing any sort of true happiness, stealing my spirit, and stripping me of any sense of self and feelings of acceptance.

I was so insecure with myself and it was so painful to live every day like that.

And it was that night, on the floor of my bathroom apartment that I had finally had enough.

"I just can't do this anymore."

The pain of having my eating disorder became greater than the fear of gaining weight.

It became greater then my need to control my food. It became greater than my need to try to look a certain way for people to like me. It became greater then my desire to look like I had it all together.

I did not have it together.

It was in this moment, that the only thing left for me to choose was self love, self acceptance and my mental health.

I wanted peace, ease and sanity more then I wanted anything else in the world. I wanted to be free from food.

So recovery became my priority. I prioritized getting better before everything else I had previously been prioritizing.

And it was in this moment of getting my priorities straight that recovery began.

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