it’s me, hi
Per the usual, I went MIA and haven’t blogged in months…
Life got hectic and a lot has changed, but the only thing that remains the same is that I am really struggling. From the outside, my life looks perfect; I have a job, I’m in a steady relationship, and I am more independent than ever.. but on the inside, my brain is screaming at me every second reminding me that I don’t deserve any of what I have and that at any moment everyone could see me for who I “really am” and all the good will be gone.
I feel like I stepped away from blogging because my words sound dumb, my thoughts are useless, and what does my experience really mean anyway. All I do is complain. I never get better, my struggle just changes and morphs as my life changes.
I am so mean to myself. I truly feel so worthless most of the time. I feel like I’ve lost my spunk drowning in depression and worthlessness.
I recently started with a new therapist, and by recently I mean we have only had one session together. Somehow, by the grace of the good Lord, I LOVE this therapist. We spent some time talking about where I’m at right now in “recovery.” I told her that my body is recovered to an extent, I have been weight restored for two years now, but my mind hasn’t spent a single minute of those two years in any state of recovery- it’s mostly just been angry. Part of why I already know I love this new therapist is because she is the first provider to not immediately say “Wow, you should be so proud of yourself, you’ve come so far. Be excited about your accomplishment of weight restoration.” Instead, she said “Wow, that’s big. I can imagine that has brought on new feelings you might not have had before.” And she was right.
So often when providers learn that my body has been in a state of healing for a while they assume that it is an accomplishment or that my mind is healed as well. Granted, it is an accomplishment, the alternative is death so I guess it’s better, but my issue with hearing about my weight gain as some major achievement is that in saying I should be proud you are assuming that this has been a positive experience for me. As we all know, “should” is invalidating. Telling me I should be proud of myself is putting shame on the fact that I’m really pretty fucking upset with myself.
I miss the hell out of my sick body. I go to bed every night in a 2XL t-shirt because I’ll be damned if I have to experience clothing squeezing my fat any more of the day than I already have to. I wake up every morning planning the pants I will wear that allow me to not focus on my less-than-sick body all day. I usually wear a dress because I just can’t do it; I can’t feel the pressure of a button on my jeans pinching into my belly, I can’t deal with the disgust I have with myself when my pants fit a little tighter after my morning coffee or lunch, I just can’t deal with it. I feel like I can’t deal with anything.
I’m in a deep stage of grief. I hate comparing recovery to death because I know there are way worse things to lose but I also hate comparing people’s pain so yes, there’s a part of me that feels like my anorexia is dead. I guess that’s a song for another time but it’s dark. It sucks feeling such a sense of loss. If there’s one thing I’ve never been good at, well beyond my disorder, it’s moving on. I like a good fairytale, I like perfection, I’m a romantic, I think if things are worth it, and I see worth in everything/everyone but myself, then they are worth fighting for.
I would fight day and night for what I love and the deepest love I’ve known is that of my eating disorder.
