I beat myself up sometimes about my eating disorder history. This is prompted by me just having a snack – hot chocolate – because I wanted to. Something simple, but impossible 12 months ago (ok, probably impossible 12 weeks ago, possibly 12 days ago).
After something simple like this, a little accomplishment that seemed insurmountable once upon a time, my mind goes towards the missed opportunities, the friendships that got beaten up, the experiences that went unshared, the gratitude that went unshown, the untasted food with a lover…
And then I say FUCK YOU. I tell those anxieties and thoughts of regret doesn’t even get the five seconds of Matthew-Fox-in-Lost fear allowance.
Cautious for the future, for relapse and being aware of signs of falling off the road of recovery – sure, those are allowed. And part of this continued anxiety is because of my eating style: eating by the numbers as opposed to intuitively (to increase my comfort in eating varieties and higher-calorie foods – because they fit into the system – and ensuring sufficient quantity), even though it causes stress and anxiety. It drives me crazy, yes; but the alternative is that I drive everyone else around me crazy with concern (well, maybe not at my current school…) because I lose 15 or 25 pounds in a school year.
[AN ASIDE: will there be a time when this is not needed? I know that I should not ask that question, but it is the continual lack of 100% confidence in what this is, if it is normal or the ME version of ME… BACK TO CONFIDENCE!].
But they will not take any more time away from me, not if I can allow it, not if it I have the courage and strength and wisdom required at this point. No more time away from being grateful and appreciative, from loving, from looking up.