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“What I know is this: I chose recovery. It was a conscious decision, and not an easy one. That’s the common denominator among people I know who have recovered: they chose recovery, and they worked like hell for it, and they didn’t give up. Recovery isn’t easy, at first. It takes time. It takes more work, sometimes, than you think you’re willing to do. But it is worth every hard day, every tear, every terrified moment. It’s worth it, because the trade-off is this: you let go of your eating disorder, and you get back your life. As we come to the end of Mental Health Awareness Month, I have a confession to make… remember that blog post I wrote a while back that started off with “my brain is not prime real estate right now”? Yeah, let’s just say market value has fallen again.
I’m gonna come right out and say it: My eating disorder brain has snuck back up on me. While I haven’t officially had a relapse, I think I caught myself right on the verge of one. As I write this, I’m trying really hard not to feel like a failure, or a fraud, or like I’m letting a bunch of people (including myself) down. Overall, I think I’m mostly pissed; I keep thinking, “Ugh, this again??? I’m so freaking tired of fighting this battle.” In hindsight, there were lots of little signs this was coming. I should have known that a handful of relatively-short-but-soul-sucking depressive episodes (that I originally attributed to the seasonal depression but didn’t let up with more sunshine) combined with stress and upcoming change would cause problems. I also should have caught a few other mental red flags: an increase in mirror checks, body checks, body dysmorphia (I didn’t recognize myself in a photo because the person in the photo looked significantly thinner than I thought I was), withdrawing from family and friends (I have a whole lot of unreturned calls and texts right now; I’m really sorry if you’re one of them), feeling guilty/bad if I ate something different than my normal lunch (Safe Foods™ are back!), having trouble finding/listening to my body’s hunger cues, forgetting to eat, and even feeling kind of proud that I forgot to eat (yikes). There have been physical warnings that I missed/ignored too, like being constantly exhausted (I’m falling asleep on the couch at 8 every night and am still tired 10 hours later), having trouble regulating my temperature (I thought this was because the seasons are changing), my alcohol tolerance has decreased (I thought it was because I’m drinking less, which is probably part of it, but recently I’ve been getting buzzed off one drink), not enjoying my weightlifting workouts because I feel super weak (I thought I was out of lifting shape), and I noticed today that I have a cut on my hand from a few weeks ago that still hasn’t healed. On top of the mental and physical cues, my husband has gently mentioned more than a couple times that he thought I probably needed to eat more. I stubbornly brushed off his comments, but looking back, I’m ashamed that I didn’t take the concerns of someone who loves me and cares about me more seriously. For crying out loud, I even wrote the below in my diary on November 18, 2021: “I had a long day at work, as seems to be the theme of this fall. There was barely enough time to scarf down a Greek yogurt for lunch. That, plus another Greek yogurt and granola bar I had for breakfast, was all I’d eaten today. At 7:30 pm, I started fixing myself dinner. Listen. I have considered myself completely, fully, wholly recovered from my eating disorder for the past seven years. Seven. Years. I haven’t talked about it in a while because that part of my life just seems so distant. Yet, this is a thought I had right before I started cooking: ‘I bet we could make it ‘til the morning without eating. You don’t really need food right now.’” That was where I left that diary entry, but that night I remember thinking to myself, “man, that’s fucked up. Of course I need to eat right now. How weird that I thought that.” TWENTY-TWENTY-ONE. Nearly two years ago. I know hindsight is 20/20, but I frankly feel like an idiot for not noticing any of the above could be/were an issue. Then, around two weeks ago, I started having very strong compulsions to binge and purge that seemingly came out of nowhere (note: I didn’t do either, which is why I say I haven’t relapsed, but I do think I've been unconsciously restricting a little). I obviously recognized those impulses as a problem right away and immediately told my therapist, but honestly, that only adds to my feelings of idiocy – how long would it have taken me to comprehend what was happening if it hadn’t smacked me in the face? I’ve been saying for YEARS that I feel completely free from my eating disorder, and I’m a mix of embarrassed, sad, and scared that apparently I’m not. Indeed, that’s probably a big reason I may have willfully overlooked so many signs – if I was wrong about this, something that I considered a massive part of my identity, what else could I be wrong about? And because I considered my recovery a huge success and have found deep reserves of strength in, what would come crumbling down if the well ran dry? Lots of unknowns here, and I’m not comfortable with any of them. I’ve written before about how I have a tendency to talk about the past with rose-colored glasses; I like things to make sense, to have meaning, and I want it all tied up nicely with pretty wrapping paper and a bow. Perhaps that’s why I haven’t published any blog posts recently – if I can’t write something with a beautiful lesson and a happy ending, then I’m simply not gonna write. Unfortunately, though, that’s the recipe for a counteractive cycle: Writing is one of my biggest healers, so if I don’t write, I can’t heal, and if I don’t heal, it’s not a happy ending, so I won’t write. So here I am, trying to break the cycle by writing from the wound. It’s risky, this – I don’t want people to see this post as one long complaint or a desperate ploy for attention. I don’t want people to see it as a cry for help. I want to be clear that yeah, I’m upset, but I’m not just sitting in the shittiness; the nice thing about fighting a demon I already beat once is that I know what’s happening, and I have confidence I can beat him again. I’m getting ahead of things in therapy, and I had a long talk with myself in the grocery store about how, if I don’t eat enough this week, I am actively letting my team down* because we have nationals this weekend. Again, I’m resisting the urge to tie things up with the bow in this last paragraph. I want to write what I’ve said so many times: there are always lights in the tunnel, even if we can’t see them, and we must trust they’ll come back on. I want to write that, but I’m holding myself back because in some ways it seems toxically positive. But you know what? I’m gonna say it anyway, because it really is the truth – There are lights in my tunnel. I can’t see them now, but I know where they are, so that’s where I’m walking. And I promise to keep walking, no matter how tired I get. *I know some people might not agree with this mindset/say it’s too extrinsic and shame-focused to be healthy, but it’s working for me right now.
2 Comments
Jesse Lou
5/28/2023 09:30:12 pm
Praying for you right now ❤️
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Kristen
5/29/2023 06:08:11 am
Always proud of you, and you have a lot of people walking beside you and cheering you on. Love you lots!
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About the AuthorConfessions of a failed southern lady. I've got messy hair and a thirsty heart. Writer, photographer, career wanderer. Archives
May 2023
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