It does get better you know?
Despite the struggles that I write about, it is better. I know because when I see myself slipping I am reminded of how horrible my existence once was and it makes me thankful that I began the process of climbing my way out of the chaos of this disorder. When I went into treatment I could not consume anything without this intensity of hate burning me up, nothing was safe, nothing was unthreatening. Slowly I started to change that and I learnt how to eat toast and cereal and semi-skimmed milk without waiting for the ground to swallow me up immediately afterwards. I was reduced mentally and emotionally by the anorexia in a way that was worse than the physical.
When I started to gain weight there was a side of me that I had forgotten about, a side that cared more about the world around me and the people in it than what I was putting in to my body. I’m not going to lie, feeling again, using my brain for something other than calculating numbers hurt like hell…but it was better. At least I knew I was still alive. I could feel that. I could work with that. When I left it was like I had found most of the pieces of this jigsaw puzzle that I would need to rebuild my life but it wasn’t until I was back home that I could begin the process of putting those pieces back together.
My puzzle is still very incomplete.
Most days now I get through my meals. I push down the negative feelings it creates inside of me and I tell myself that this is what I have to do. If I want to live then I have to eat. Like I said though there are days that I slip, days when the roar and the guilt knocks me off my feet and I am not sure what to do. It happened today. My afternoon snack has been a little off these last few weeks, either absent or minimal and I am finding it hard to put it back in. Today I could feel the crash of my energy levels somewhere round 4:30pm and then the nausea hit. I still lack the ability to understand when my body needs food before it gets to the point of making me feel shaky and sick. I got myself a snack and sat eating it on the sofa and when I was done, I folded myself in two and just sobbed. Not quiet, dignified tears…nope! Instead loud, heaving sobs that ached right down the middle. It came out of nowhere and then it was gone. Afterwards I sat for a very long time, just staring at nothing and attempted to unpick what just happened. Then I thought I maybe I was over-analysing it, maybe I just needed to accept that for no reason what so ever some days or moments are just going to be harder. I picked myself up and did the things I needed to do this afternoon and then I made dinner…because skipping it would just mean that I am letting the anorexia win, that those moments from this afternoon become my normal again. I don’t want that to be normal. I may not like things right now but being reduced to a crumbling mess does not happen all the time now. The battles do not define my day anymore.
I have to keep remembering that. I have to keep telling myself that it does get better. That it is better.