I'm Jess. I'm twenty seven. I love to take jumping pictures. I have more books than my bookcase can hold, all organized by genre. I sing along to Broadway show tunes while I work. I graduated with a bachelor's degree in Psychology and History and I’m in the process of applying to graduate schools. I have huge heart for people with special needs and mental illnesses. Oh, and I'm recovering from Anorexia Nervosa.

I'm both happy and sad right now. Happy because I have landed my dream job. Sad because that means I will no longer be writing this blog. It's been a tumultuous, frustrating, and yet rewarding two years since I started writing Surviving ED.

For years, I have dreaded this time of the year. So much food. Turkey. Stuffing. Cranberry sauce. Pie... I tried everything to get out of the Thanksgiving and Christmas family get-togethers. One year, I had the perfect excuse — I fell down two flights of stairs, causing minor injuries and a massive headache. This year I'm looking forward to the holiday.

Two years ago, I spoke with HealthyPlace's, Gary Koplin, on "De-Romanticizing Anorexia." I was asked to write Surviving ED, an eating disorders recovery blog, after that video post. I vowed to be completely honest when I started writing this blog. In some ways, it has been both a painful and rewarding two years.

Recovery from an eating disorder offers many gifts. Health. Restored relationships with family and friends. New life. Freedom. And it's true. Eating disorder recovery does mean all of these things, and more. But that's not the gift I'm talking about. This gift is much more subtle and may seem to be a curse at first.

21 October 2010 Too much strain. Too many failures. Never better. Never good enough. I can't handle it anymore. Sorry, I love you, Angela I had tried. God knows I had tried, but I couldn't seem to recover from anorexia no matter what I did. I just couldn't seem to find the strength to get better and really live. So I decided to kill myself. I climbed up on a chair, wrapped my favorite red scarf around my neck several times, and then tied it to the chandelier in my dining room. I made sure it was tight. All I had to do was kick the chair away from me. I couldn't do it.

The truth is, I often hate the physical aspects of recovery. The night sweats. The hunger pains. The food cravings. The breakouts of acne. The edema. The delayed gastric re-emptying. The headaches. The constipation and diarrhea. And my ever-changing body, including, The "Buddha"  Belly. It has been enough to cause me to give up. Several times.

For almost five years, I have struggled and fought to free myself from anorexia. It has been painful, and full of tears. It hasn't been easy. Understatement of the year. This is what has happened: A panicked flight from Rogers Memorial Hospital's eating disorders program. Eight hospitalizations on the psychiatric unit of an area hospital. Spectacular failure during a six-week stay at the River Centre Clinic. Plunging into alcohol and drug abuse. Multiple relapses. Now I can finally see the other side.

In a fit of anger, I threw away my scale in January. The temptation to buy a new one was very strong, but I knew I needed to move beyond obsessing about numbers in order to achieve true recovery. Therefore, I haven't known my weight in almost eight months. Until today. And surprisingly, I'm okay with it.

For years, the fact that most people get hungry and enjoy food did not register with me at all. I feel hungry. That tastes so good! I really have a craving for a big, juicy hamburger! I did not feel those things at all. Ever. I did not feel hunger pains and food was simply something to be avoided. I rarely ate, and when I did, I ate the blandest, most boring food possible. Plain yogurt. A piece of thinly sliced turkey. A small portion of rice sans salt, butter, or seasoning. It really was easy for me to starve myself at first. There seemed to be no hunger problem in my eating disorder, until recovery.