Scratches on Paper

My first year of college is officially done! As glad as I am to be back with my family, I already miss the home that my friends and I created.

I feel like a stranger as I walk around my room and see not two beds, but one. I see stacked papers from months ago left untouched--like a display of who I once was.

A pile of yellow lined paper lay on my dusty desk with hasty scratches of recorded thoughts and emotions frozen in time. The more I read, the more I realize how I have changed.

Here's an except of what I found:

..........................

Scratches on Paper

As someone once said, 

"I'm not fat, but free."

Free from the the shackles I slapped on my wrists

When I decided that I wanted to be the world 

Rather than who God knew me to be. 

I realized too late that along with the pounds

I was losing the weight of my soul. 

My stomach wasn't starving alone. 

Twisted truths became my religion

And justified lies seemed to have no end. 

As friends came 

And left, 

Out of the frying pan and into the fire

I went. 

I blamed everyone, but me. 

Food became my prescription, my addiction. 

My "diet" had become my disease. 

As the pounds returned old scars ripped open

Red, condemning, and unforgiving. 

Now I realize they are the marks of a battle not lost, 

But won. 

For months I cried into pillows, 

In bathroom stalls,

And cars.

Sometimes, I would purge after binges

And let food, once sweet, 

Burn like acid on my tongue.

I knew I was a genetic mistake,

And death had never seemed so inviting. 

"Comparison is the thief of joy". 

A car crash or sit wrists seemed able to do the job nicely.

What if I survived?

I would be more damaged than before. 

I knew I would hate myself more.

I was told to be smart, 

"Eat like us", they said. 

Threats don't solve problems, 

Instead, like gasoline thrown on fire

they perpetuate. 

All of my work had gone to waste. 

I ended up in a more painful Hell, 

Fallen from grace. 

I felt worthless because I had been filled with hate. 

I was yelled at, 

watched, 

swept under the rug, 

And at times, mounted on the wall. 

I felt like a charity case that no one wanted to have. 

..........................

I think one of the reasons why I feel like a stranger here at home is because I came back as a different individual when compared to the "me" of last June. Walking into my room was like walking into a museum with relics strewn across the tables and walls. I found myself learning about the life of an acquaintance long lost from memory. 

After writing all of this out, I realize that I'm like a Phoenix that has risen from the ashes of my past self, a regeneration. Like clay, my trials have formed me into someone better than I was before. Through pain comes eventual perfection.

 "When we hit our lowest point, we are open to the greatest change."

 (Bonus "nerd" points will be given to anyone who knows where this quote came from)

I know that  new challenges will always follow success; however, after overcoming myself I know I can overcome anything.

Long story short:

I'm definitely going to be cleaning my room over the next few days so that I can make space for the new "me" and feel at home again.