It is now day 21 of treatment.
That’s 21 days of my life that I have spent driving myself up the wall, being horribly uncomfortable and having my body begin the process of healing itself from the damage I have done. I don’t think that it’s willing to forgive me so quickly though. How can it when I have done nothing but hate on it for years? In some ways things are easier, in others…not so much.
I can sit through my most of my meals now without jumping and fidgeting in my seat. I complete my meals. My pace is quicker. I mix foods. I make conversation to a certain extent. I don’t cry.
But the thoughts haven’t changed. I still think that this all wrong. I still have to listen to the screaming voices in my head that are begging and pleading with me to just not eat another bite. It still hurts beyond words.
Of course 21 days was not going to fix me or really make a substantial difference in terms of changing those core beliefs that I have about myself but I did think that I would be less lost than I am. I think that’s one of the most overwhelming things I am experiencing right now, a profound sense of lostness (I realise that it’s not really a word) and as though I am not quite real. It’s possible that I am just winging this and going with it in the hope that at some point I’ll figure it out but the doubt is there. I am the only thing standing in my way and it annoys the hell out of me because I know this but for some reason I can’t seem to do anything about it.
Why can’t I ever make myself want to or able to stay?
I know how loved I am. I know how lucky I am.
But, I also think that if I just left it wouldn’t really matter. There will always be another who is more than capable of filling the space that I leave behind it. Why do I feel so irrelevant, unworthy and like I’m never quite enough?