It’s been a while since I’ve blogged. It’s not that I haven’t felt the need to, it’s just I didn’t really know what to say anymore. Reflection felt too painful, as though if I went there then maybe I wouldn’t be able to leave it again. I’m still worried about that writing this. Yet I am also aware that if I don’t put this somewhere then all the little comments and odd trigger moments that keep happening will push me towards a relapse. I don’t have the time nor the energy for that. I keep acting like I’m fine and I am so good at doing that now, that I think I could even fool myself if I didn’t live in my own head. It scares me how convincing I am, how adept at twisting the truth into something more palatable that I’ve become. Physically I’m fine, my weight has held, my intake is what it should be…it’s just everything else that makes me feel like I’m drowning a little. I’m supposed to have gotten used to my body by now. Eating is supposed to feel normal or at least manageable. Neither of those things are true. Every bite continues to trip me up and I wonder how much longer this can go on before I say “Fuck it!” and give into all those ugly thoughts. It’s just hard being in that place where everyone else expects you to be recovered and you’re still figuring out the recovering bit. There are times when I think this is as well as I’m going to get so I just have to get used to it above anything else. It all seems rather bleak when I think of it like that.
Eating Disorder Awareness week didn’t help. The continuous comments about how I look ranging from “You look so much healthier”, “I can see you’ve put some meat on you” and “You’ve gained a fair bit, you look more like the old you” didn’t help either. My Mother restarting her slimming group, the media, the girls at Uni, the people who knew me before treatment but don’t know I’ve been in treatment, the friend who after years of being in recovery, relapsing are also difficult to bear right now. When there isn’t a million things that I should be doing or want to do, there is only this overwhelming need to crawl into my bed, hide under my blanket and stop eating. I’m back to having daily panic attacks. I’m terrified of trying anything new that isn’t on my safe list. My moods slipping. It’s all minor right now but it’s the impact of all those things together that concerns me. Of course there is possibly only one person who has a slight idea of what’s happening in my world right now. I have the vocabulary on here, not in the real world though. I’ve become incapable of reaching out for help because I don’t think I want any or I don’t want to be that person anymore. It’s quite lonely.
Yet it is better. I’m not where I was and I am trying to remain grateful for that. My life is good for the first sustained period of time in my life. I am thankful for that everyday. Why isn’t that enough? There is a battle still raging in my head and repeatedly I wonder why…and the only answer that I can come up with is because I didn’t do the real work. When my therapist left, she told me that to recover properly I would have to engage properly in therapy. Not half heartedly, not picking and choosing what I did or did not want to say based on what I thought was relevant. I would have to talk about things which I never had the capacity to before. Her recommendation was a referral to someone who could do that work with me. I thought she was wrong. I was ready to close the door on all that but when I feel like this, when there is nothing more I can change in my life in an attempt to improve it, I begin to doubt myself. I wonder if she was in fact right.
I hope your day has been kind to you.