I knew when I entered treatment the last time, when I had withered my body away to the point where it was beginning to fail again, that if I did not recover then there was a good chance that eventually I would not make it. I also knew or had this feeling that this time I would have to maintain it because if I didn’t, I probably wouldn’t get so lucky again. I wouldn’t come out of it alive. So I gave everything I had to recovery. I held on to the attitude of “go hard or go home” for most of it. I reached for a weight I hadn’t been in years, talked about things that I refused to every verbalise before, broke my rules and tried to shy away from what felt safe. When I left, I had something that I hadn’t had for a really long time which was a healthy body. I wasn’t waiting for it to fail me all the time. I learnt to trust that my heart would continue to beat, my lungs would expand and my brain would relay all the messages that it needed to. There was a small voice in the back of my mind which said to me that if I went back to putting it through what I had been putting it through, that would be it. I couldn’t see how it would forgive me again.
Now I am relapsing and I am hoping that those fears will not come true. Every time I go through this bit, the losing and the restricting, it gets harder for my body to be as resilient. Things start to shut down at an earlier stage each time. The pain kicks in as my body struggles at an increasingly higher BMI every time I relapse. I can’t help but wonder if my body is trying to warn me sooner, force me to look at what I’m doing before it does destroy me. I’ve surpassed the point in which I told myself I would definitely stop. I thought I had this under control, just keep going and not fighting it until I felt more comfortable because no matter how many times I’ve been in this position, no matter how many time logically I know that I’m wrong, I always think I can stop. Truth time: I can’t stop. I’m not sure I know how to anymore. I hate this disorder. I do not want it to kill me which is where this will all lead to because that’s where all eating disorders eventually lead to. You’d think that would be enough to stop this nonsense but it’s not because I don’t know how to undo what I’ve done. It’s become tangled again. My Mum continues to look at me and throw questions my way but still I lie. I deny it. You know what I want? To be able to see it myself. To be able to look in the mirror and be able to see that I have gone far enough, that it’s ok, that I’m not a hideous monster. I’ve never been able to though and all I see is that monster, someone with far too much excess.Why does none of it make sense?
I’m not sure what I do now. Everything has become terrifying. My list of what is safe is pathetically short. Yet I compare to before when that list was shorter and the disordered bit of my brain tells me not to worry yet, things are not that bad, not like then so therefore I don’t actually have to do anything just yet. This is child’s play compared to what’s come before. I suppose it is and I’m not overly panicked about this stage, it’s the stages to come, the stages where my body does begin to fail and my bloods get of whack and my spinal osteopenia because osteoporosis…I am not as young as I used to be and as the years go on, the body’s ability to bounce back lessens. Forgetting the body, I have a life to live to now. A degree to finish then post grad then career, then becoming a wife and a mother. I want a million things but they are fading and they will disappear if I carry on. Already I find no joy in life, my smiles are rarely real and I am currently the world’s greatest hypocrite. This wasn’t supposed to happen again and instead of getting angry about it I feel despairing and weak. The weak thing I have a problem with. It’s a state that I have always despised. I have no patience for it. Yet that’s what it’s coming down to and still I don’t know what to do.
What do I do?
I hope your day has been kind to you.