I thought this weekend was going to be about resting, getting bits of work done and just restoring a little balance that I seem to lose during the week. I have had no plans to go out or see anyone and I was looking forward to it. Yet I think the weekends are always going to remain hard for me, the lack of structure which I thought would be a good thing was not. Yesterday the sounds of my own voice were drowned out by the eating disorder and all I could do was think and analyse everything that I could or couldn’t eat. It’s like I stepped in this bubble where the outside world ceased to exist and all there was the self-hate and shame. I think that’s an emotion that I don’t really talk about or even like to admit, how everyday I feel ashamed, for giving my body what it needs to work, as though I should be above that. I got used to convincing myself that I was stronger than that need and food was a weakness that I was not allowed to indulge in. I didn’t need it. I didn’t need anything. Of course there was a level of arrogance, but when I strip down that thought, I think I needed to tell myself that because it was too hard to admit that this thing had more control over me than I had of it. That the “I don’t need it” was actually “I can’t do it.” And I couldn’t make that make sense, how I got to that point? How I had turned something so natural into an alien concept.
By the time it got to yesterday evening I was even more exhausted than I had been all week and it was clear that this eating disorder crap still takes up far too much of my energy and time. I should be over this by now. I should be moving forward. I should not be reduced to some quivering wreck by my dinner. Two conflicting thoughts enter my head. Firstly will this ever get better? will it ever change? to ‘you still ate your dinner, that’s progress because there was a time when you would have slinked away from the challenge’. There is still a long way to go before I can accept any sort of self-praise, but I don’t think that’s just a me thing. In British society we weren’t exactly raised to admit to or be proud of success. It’s just not done, and if it is somehow that person becomes seen as some self-important, arrogant twat. It’s a little sad really. Anyway my motivation was slipping last night until I spoke to a friend. She is struggling from an eating disorder and is still very much in a place where she wants to move forward but hasn’t quite got to the doing point yet. Reflecting back to her and thinking what I have gained during recovery was good for me. It made me see and remember the person I once was and it transported me back to those first weeks on the ward and a conversation between myself and my team. They had sat me down in one of the rooms and for the first time were brutally honest with me, they told me this was serious, that I could die at any point, could I not see that? And no I couldn’t see that. I could see them being ridiculous and that I was too fat for any of this to be happening and then thinking “I don’t even care anymore”. And that despair still breaks my heart a little now, that I could have been that unhappy, that uncaring, day in and out for God knows how long…It wakes me up to the fact that I never want to be in that place again, not physically or mentally. I never want to not care.
I’m trying to be more centred today. I have housework to get done, and I know what I’m making for my meals. A trip to the library might be needed and since it’s a little bit sunny I may end up going out for a walk. Some fresh air would probably do me good. Have a good sunday.