You can imagine that if you were the boyfriend of someone who simply vanished from your life for 90 days that you would be hurt/angry and eventually at the ripe old age of 19 have to move on and that is exactly what he did.
He was the first person I called when I got home and he had moved on.
He listened politely enough to my explanation told me he tried to reach out to my father through phone calls and never got an answer. He said he cried once and cursed me more because he thought I simply left him with no goodbye, no closure.
But he had like anyone else would do, moved on., as did everyone else around me.
Time stopped there for me. I thought my friends would be over joyed to see me, again wanting the hugs and comfort and relief that I was okay.
That didn’t happen either. I didn’t know these people long enough to cultivate that kind of care or concern. They simply lived their lives without me. It was incredibly painful because once again, my life changed in an instant, without my consent. I was angry. I had fuel now for my self hatred and it blossomed into something destructive, far more destructive than a mere eating disorder. I no longer cared about living or dying or anything in between. I hated being ME.