I’ve found myself being drawn back to this blog the last few days. The problem is that every time I open up a blank post, I find myself faltering, wondering how to explain what I cannot explain to myself. You see, my stars have lined up and the life that I’ve being trying to get back to this last year is here. I am living it. I am back studying, I see my friends regularly, I have my freedom but still I cannot unbind myself from the voice that screams at me and tells me that I have to listen to it. It tells me to restrict, to count, to move more and consume less. It points out my flaws, ridicules my attempts of trying to escape and consistently chips away at my resolve to remain in recovery. I could say it was about body image, which although is real, is probably only a half truth. I could also say it was stress, having stepped back into a world of deadlines and attempting to socialise in a class where I don’t know anyone and find myself feeling awkward. Maybe it could even be that I don’t know how to sustain a recovery. I am trying to figure out a life and live in a way that I have no experience of. I know Anorexia. I know it’s aches and destruction and it’s promises which I know are nothing but lies. I know it’s potential to hurt me and where it will hurt and why. I despise this disorder but as terrible as this is going to sound, it feels like home. It feels safe even though it’s lethal. Yet I can’t say that I want it back because that is not true either. I’m not looking for a relapse but I am slipping. For the last two weeks I have given into my thoughts. Everyday my intake is being reduced incrementally and I tell myself that it’s ok because it’s not yet affecting my weight but in the end that only fuels me to restrict more because isn’t that what I want?
I hear the excuses that I make. The way I shrug off the comments on my portion sizes. The justification of telling myself that the dizziness/palpitations/headaches are all because I am tired. I hear them all and yet I still tell myself that this isn’t like the last time. I’m about 75% of the way to convincing myself that I could lose a little weight and be able to stop, that I’ll just get comfortable in my skin and it’ll be enough. When I shave off more calories, I tell myself it’s only temporary. That I am in control. I can stop. I am stronger than the disorder. I can walk away at any point. I won’t lose everything again. Yea…this is what I say and this is what I am beginning to believe again. ‘Again’…that word should be the warning flag, the clue to what’s about to come but after a momentary pause, I move on.
What am I doing? Why am I doing this?
I can’t bear the thought of watching my life burn to the ground again but the hate is growing. It scares me how quickly it’s changing. I’ve been thinking of going to a group again, to ground myself, to say these words out loud in the hope that they’d be enough to stop this. Those are still thoughts though and once more, it is group night and I have not attended. Part of it is pride, despite the doctor specifically telling me on my discharge day to not let that be something that stops me reaching out. I think the other part is that I want to ignore it. I don’t want to admit to myself fully that what I’m doing is screwed up. The behaviours are becoming routine, the light seems to be dimming and I cannot find my voice.
I have this huge conflict going on inside of me. I long for some stillness or some form of peace created in order for me to just get on with living my life. I worry that I am asking for too much though.
I hope your day has been good to you.