“For the last 10 years of my life, I’ve battled an eating disorder."

"I remember every skipped meal, every collapse, the horror on my mother’s face as she watched me waste away, every tear shed at meal times, being too weak to stand, and much more.”

Kelsi Turner is a friend of mine on Facebook.
I’ve posted about her struggles before.
She's had a lot of ups and downs.
But I’m really proud of how she’s doing.
And that she's willing to speak openly about it.
I’m also sure there are a lot of people who can totally relate.
And maybe this will give them hope.

Here’s the rest of what Kelsi posted:

I remember attempting suicide because I couldn’t stand to be alive one more moment in this illness.

Every morning, noon, and night my life was ruled by my disease and stepping onto the scale.

I refused help, as I didn’t see myself sick enough. Every single person saw me dying and all I saw was fat.

It wasn’t until 2016 that I began my road to honest and true recovery.

I entered a treatment facility, after years of resisting.
I did the hard work of gaining weight and eating food, and learning to fall in love with my body.

Still today, I am learning to love this body.
My body.

I am still learning that it’s important to have three meals a day.
I’m still learning that my worth is not defined by a number on the scale.
I’m still learning that it’s okay to be full and the urge to purge is few and far between.

I am blessed to have amazing family and friends as my support system.
I lean on them and my faith to get me through.

Just recently, I hit a bump in the road.
I struggled.
Lost weight.
Restricted.
Yet even despite that, I still move forward.

I am still recovering.
Thawing. Learning. Loving.
I take pride in continuing to overcome.

To give hope to those, especially those in the African American community where mental illness and eating disorders are hardly ever talked about.

When someone reaches out to me, I’m the first person of color they know who openly talks about their illness.

It is not something I hide.
I’m open about it.
Why?
Because I know what it’s like to believe you’re the only one going through something.
I know what it feels like to feel alone and I want others to know they aren’t alone.

Here I am.
Two years into recovery.
X amount of pounds heavier.
Learning. Loving. Living. Thriving. Surviving. Thawing. Happy. Proud.

Recovery is truly possible and I could not have made it this far without God, my mother, Annie, Traci, and my amazing therapist of the last five years.

And of course, my friends near and far who gave me hope and stuck with me to this point in my life.

I love you all and I thank you so much