Do you ever think it gets to the point where you start seeing the weight gain as life being put back into you rather than just being fat? I have been trying to get to this body that I have now which is healthy yet it seems that no matter how long I try for, its not changing, it feels just as horribly wrong as it did in the beginning. I feel like I’m failing in some way by allowing myself to maintain this weight even if I wanted health more than I wanted to be thin. I kept hoping that the uncomfortable feelings would settle down or at the very least I would become more able to tolerate it. Yet that isn’t the case. I look in the mirror and I want to cry. I want to take back these last months of weight restoration and maintenance. On the harder days I want to apologise my Eating Disorder for betraying it and I seek it’s forgiveness for changing the plan. For going back on the promise that I swore to years ago that I would do anything that I had to do without complaint if it would make me smaller. Obviously I didn’t know I was swearing allegiance to a disorder. I thought I was doing it myself for myself and that illness was something that I was going to be immune from. It shames me to admit that in my teens, I stupidly thought that I was not stupid enough to develop Anorexia. I thought being smart was a protective factor or that knowledge would keep me safe, not realising that an Eating Disorder does not care about how intelligent you are, or how much promise you have, or how good you are with words. That will always be my first mistake.
I am doing what I am supposed to be doing now. I am meeting most of my plan. I am challenging myself in some small way every now and again. I am trying to listen to my body and it’s needs. There are some days when I have to be working or at an event and more than anything I am trying to accept and respond to the reality that those days are going to need me to make sure I have the energy. I don’t like that I have to think about it still. It’s another complication in my day that I neither need nor want. It’s hard not to feel sorry for myself sometimes and do the whole woe is me thing but it doesn’t make me feel any better. If anything I can’t stand the self-pitying nonsense that seems to radiate off me sometimes. I have little patience for it. I have never thought of myself as a victim, not in this and not in anything that has happened so that pity I have, has no place. I may not have chosen this but I was not passive in it either. That’s the thing, people tell me that it was never my fault and maybe that’s true, but in the end regardless of blame, I chose to ignore it. I let it grow and left it unchecked and watched as it undid me. Nobody made me do that. I did that all on my own. This whole thought process that my brain is currently cycling through is leaving me a tad exhausted. In an attempt to figure out my identity and who I am, I forgot to factor in that I am still not great and it’s hard to find out who you are when there is still a large part of you feeling foreign but familiar. Does that even make sense?
I guess in a way, despite the horrific body image issues right now, I am trying to work out how I move forward. If I want to be the one in control of my life again, then somehow I need to be both forgiving but relentless in my fight for this. No one is going to save me from this. Nobody can.
I think that’s where people get lost. We expect our families and friends to hold the answers. To wake up and see that our hearts are unsettled. We expect them to work out what were not saying because we’re too afraid to say it or we can’t make it understandable to ourselves. If that fails, then we hope that a professional knows better and that they will have the answers. They can help and guide, they can fix your body and give you the tools in order to cope but ultimately, no one else can recover for you. It is not someone else’s responsibility to make you live. Sure they can keep you alive physically, they can make you stay and regain weight and stop your from killing yourself…but to recover. It’s on you. Just like it’s on me. Sometimes I hated the fact that my Anorexia became normal in my family. My parents accepted my behaviours as a part of me. They watched me killing myself everyday and said nothing because there was nothing to say. Fear drove them to be silent and in that time I got worse. I broke. Looking back though, the reality is that although I may have been mad at them for not saying anything, if they had then I would have walked away completely. I would have probably ended up dead because keeping the twisted little silent connection open stopped me from giving up entirely. I had to choose to live…I had to choose recovery. No one else could make that choice for me, it wasn’t theirs to make and it still isn’t. When I think of my motivations for recovery, too often I mention family. I’ve had a crap effect on my little brother and he needs to just see me healthy now. I need to be a better role model. I have a nephew now who I want to see grow up. I have friends that I think like having me around. There are all these reasons but ultimately the reason I still get up everyday and make myself sit down to breakfast, lunch, diner and whatever else I’m supposed to eat, is that I don’t want to exist as someone with Anorexia anymore. I want more for me because how it was, how I was…it was just miserable.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that I think we all need to stop hoping that someone is going to save us. They aren’t. Be your own hero. Don’t do it alone but don’t expect someone else to do it for you.
I hope your day is good to you.