|The Nitty Gritty on Eating Disorder Recovery
||[Aug. 4th, 2009|09:09 pm]
The recovery side of my blog seems to be packed with motivational moments, the good days and me sounding off about looking forward to a brighter future. I waffle on about needing to be healthy and happy in order to do the things that I want to achieve in life and perhaps, looking back, have been emphasising this positivity and neglecting the thoughts and feelings that I struggle with on a more or less daily basis.
When I began this blog, my aim was to communicate a raw, realistic account of what it is like to suffer from an Eating Disorder and shed light on the process of recovery. I seem to often stray, playing around with other ideas and commenting on other aspects of what goes on around me - which is fine, but I thought it was about time that I bring the honesty back, back to the nitty gritty.
Despite a considerably inspiration-packed weekend, hence a following couple of days drenched in the glow it left - allowing myself to be proactive in moving forwards (instigating a rise in my meal plan) and facing my fears (asking for dessert - sticky date cake to be precise) - today could be described as crash and burn. Years ago, a close friend of mine told me that life is, and always will be filled with peaks and troughs - well today is a giant trough, the Grand Canyon of troughs. Why? Porridge, chocolate, pastry, milk, cheese, pasta and crisps. It sounds so unbelievably pathetic that such things cause such misery, but I can't deny the fact that each of those, and nothing else, ruined my day. Each of those items of food and drink made me feel greedy, disgusting, ashamed, fat, not ill. My mind has been racing all evening: thinking of each food, thinking I look and feel like I am morbidly obese, wondering why the hell I am in an Eating Disorders unit if I can consume that huge amount of food and keep it down, chastising myself for not throwing up when I feel so full and horrible... I know for a fact that I would have felt better, happier, if I had have just purged myself empty, and that is a feeling that plagues me almost every day. To fight against Anorexia and Bulimia is the most tiring, draining and scariest thing imaginable. I have to force myself with everything I have just to get through the next minute, ten minutes, thirty minutes, hour... without indulging in behaviours that my mind tells me I should be doing. It is an illness that wants you to be ill, it wants me to starve and throw up and run and swim and lose weight until I am on the verge of dropping down dead. To go against all that every day is a constant battle that I struggle to even put into words because I cannot get my own head around why it is so consuming, why it continues after years of treatment to still cling on and drag me down no matter how much I want to change. If I didn't want to get better, I would understand, but I do. I just wonder when it will let me start to win.
Time for an apt quote of the day:
"The power to simply go on, the power to endure... that is power enough"