This blog was supposed to be a day by day process of recovery and for a while there I think that’s what I was doing. Yes I had stopped writing about it but I was still living it. Yet something changed, a switch was flicked and I found myself beginning to slip a few months back. The slip, although I am hesitant to say, is turning/ has turned into a relapse. I’m not sure how you determine when that happens, the moment when it stops being one thing and becomes something else. I think I have crossed that line though. It hurts to admit to that. I walked away from Anorexia. I fought it, worked against it, hated it and swore at it, yet still it remained waiting for the moment to welcome me back. I think it knew that our farewell was never going to be forever.
As the days pass, it becomes stronger and I become more adept at lying about it to the extent that I am actively attempting to convince my family that they are delusional whenever they bring up my weight loss. I tell them that the scales have not changed in months, that what they are seeing is not real. I lie about what I eat or don’t eat. I lie about how much space it takes up in my brain. I lie about my continuous participation in all that is recovery. I lie and I lie and yet it feels so wrong because it is something, through the years of illness that I never outright did. Of course there was omissions, there was ducking and diving and twisting the truth. Lying though was beyond me. Yet it all feels so necessary now. For one, I don’t want them to see me failing again. My pride cannot take a hit like that. They stopped worrying and do you know how amazing that felt? To not be watched all the time, to not see their eyes looking me up and down, determining how I am changing. Secondly, I am weirdly protective and if they knew, if anyone with any sway in my life knew then I am afraid that they will once again try to make me do something about it and I do not currently have those internal resources to do anything. It’s shocking how little I care this time and I genuinely think it’s because I am too tired for it. There have been months of anxiety which never dissipates, which bounces from one source to another before I even get the chance to regulate my breathing. Everything fills me with fear for no explicable reason. Then my mood started to drop. It happened slowly at first but the speed picked up, the sadness and loneliness began to engulf me. The tears randomly started every now and again, the emptiness tore through me and all I could/can think between “no this is not happening to me” is “I’m too old for this, I’m too tired to fight, maybe I just watch…maybe in time it will just go away on it’s own” It might not be the best approach I’ve ever adopted but it’s also not the worse.
This place is the only place that I can be this honest. My doctor knows to an extent. He see’s me regularly and has noticed that things have been going a little downhill. A couple of visits ago, all I could do was cry in his office and apologise and not come up with an answer on how I am supposed to fix this. I have no desire to go back on medication and there is little to talk about. Yet he wanted to chat to some people and make some referral. I agreed to that because I didn’t really have any strong feelings about anything either for or against something. I went back a couple of weeks later (the other day) and again had little to say. At least there were no tears this time. The great thing about my doctor though is that he wants me to choose what happens to me. He doesn’t want things done to me again and I have never been more grateful for this approach. I agreed to have that chat with someone from the team he referred me to, simply to explore options but I don’t want to be a patient again in that way.
So all this background that I’ve given you has led me to today. Today I have had a lecture off my mother in front of my siblings who sat there looking vaguely embarrassed whilst I tried to ignore, downplay, outright deny that there is anything to be concerned about. I also received a letter from a mental health team who want me to come in for an assessment. That was not what I was expecting. I was at most expecting a phone call. So far I’ve gone through the options of cancelling it, going and saying I am mostly fine or going and choosing only the bits that I feel OK to talk about, such as the anxiety, maybe the mood but certainly not the eating disorder. It’s all getting fucked up and maybe I should have or should just keep my mouth shut. I have a life that I am supposed to live now and this relapse is highly inconvenient but I don’t care enough or believe enough that it’ll do that much damage therefore I don’t have to take action.
I guess I feel lost but also that everything is hanging on by a thread and it could all go horribly wrong very soon. I am living a double life again, neither of them feel real.
I hope your day has been good to you.