I am intrigued by this idea that every now and again there is this feeling like we’re running out of time. It’s strange because on the one hand we are told to be patient with ourselves, to let ourselves heal and that recovery will take as long as it takes. I do believe in all those sentiments but I also know how minutes quickly add up to whole days and those days, well they can add up to years. In the beginning you don’t really notice. I mean, time was this thing that you wished away because as more time passed all you could see was the amount of weight that you would have lost. It was a trade off, your childhood/adolescent (whatever age this started for you) for a smaller waist. At the time I personally thought it was worth it. Maybe you did too? Then, once the Anorexia sank its teeth in to your very soul, time started to slow. The days were endless because all you could think about was the pain and how much you wanted it to stop. Life seemed to be a very long time. Too long. Time in recovery though…something weird happens. Suddenly it speeds up and the longer you stay stuck but want to get out and be free, then the quicker it goes.
I say I’m running out of time because I have blinked and two years have slipped by and I still remain having the same arguments in my head. I’m still listening. I’m still destroying my body because for some reason I can’t stop. The moment I realised I didn’t want to die anymore was the day that everything that I had missed suddenly hit me. How was I ever going to make up for that? How was I going to make up the time that I had lost and do all the things that I wanted to do? Doesn’t that thought make you unbelievably sad? It does for me. Yet I don’t want to be broken down by that sadness. I can’t get the hours back but I have the choice to not lose another 10 years. I am running out of time.