Eating Disorders / Mental Health

I F*CKED UP

I’ve been quiet on here for a little while. I’ve been quiet everywhere for a little while.

I HAVE BEEN IN A PERIOD OF SIGNIFICANT RESTRICTION

I won’t go into detail as I don’t know who reads this blog, but I do know specifics on everything that has gone wrong can be triggering to those vulnerable to disordered eating. It’s like writing a how-to manual for eating disordered folk. I don’t want to do that.

Suffice to say, it all went tits up.

On the happy news side of things, I am long past compensatory behaviours like purging. And I am long past numbing behaviours like self-harm. And I am long past the really scary thoughts of suicidal ideation. Of course, nobody knows what tomorrow might hold, but for today I feel solid on those fronts.

BODY IMAGE HOWEVER…

I can’t nail this particular aspect of recovery and chronic body hatred always leads me to restrictive eating. I have, despite appearances to the contrary, worked really hard on getting better with body image. But it’s hard. It’s really fucking hard. My body was commented on with much condescension and disgust all my formative years. How do you rewrite that dialogue? My body has been commented on for a lot of my adult life and when you’re hypersensitive to body commentary it’s hard to let go.

I have a psychologist and I have a psychiatrist and I have lovely supportive friends, so I will continue to work on this. I was doing so well in recovery that I’d started scheduling my appointments two months apart. But it appears a lot can happen in two months. And not all of it good.

It was curious how quickly I was triggered and fell off my precarious perch. It all just came crashing down around my ears and I stopped eating. The only reason I am writing this post is because I have started eating again. In a haphazard manner but I’m getting there.

Not eating is a psychologically messy process. When I stop eating I stop writing and when I stop writing my head goes screwy. I know writing is not a must-do recovery tool for most people, but it is for me. I do have a private journal I write in all the time but it tends to be a sad and sorry pity party. Here, I tend to be a bit more reflective. I have no idea if it sounds reflective, but it’s an awful lot better than my sally-sad-pants journalling.

DOES “RECOVERED” EXIST?

I often wonder this question. I know in 12 Step programmes they say once an addict always an addict. No matter how many years clean and sober you’re always a recovering addict, never a recovered one.

In eating disorder circles this is sometimes disputed. They say you can have full recovery. I can’t remember who they are, but they had lots of fancy letters after their names. Other people say you never fully recover. I feel like I’ll be in the latter category – I can get a lot better but it will never be perfect.

Not that perfectionism is something to pursue… But I think if I expect (at this stage) to stay recovered all the time then when relapse happens (as happened six weeks ago) I have a sense of wanting to give up. It’s all too hard. I’ll never be okay. Poor me, poor me. I spend a lot of time thinking poor me. It’s a useless waste of time. Things are what they are right at this moment and all I can do is look to making better decisions right now. The only point in looking back is to gently consider why I fucked up in the first place.

So, today I’m making a choice to stay on the recovery road, even if I’m taking the long route. It’s better than sitting down in my hole and digging myself in. I need to ditch the shovel, pick myself up and keep trudging along.

IN THE SPIRIT OF POSITIVITY, I ATE LUNCH

How sad is it that eating lunch is a major achievement? You’d think after 55 years I would have managed to get on top of a basic body function like eating. But alas, I have not. I’m trying though.

The downside to sharing every intimate aspect of my life in a public arena is that I feel people are watching me. I’ve developed an aversion to being seen eating. Somehow it feels like a judgment even though I’m sure it’s not. I feel like every time I eat food there’s a big neon flashing sign over my head saying, “Look! She’s eating food!” Logically I know that’s ridiculous and most people have far more important things to think about than whatever is on my fork, but fear is rarely rational.

My life is not going in the direction I would like at the moment and my disordered relationship with food is reflecting that. My first step in another direction is to dust off my keyboard and write. So here I am, sharing my failures with you in the hope that it will lead to fewer failures for me.

In the coming weeks, I hope to share more inspirational posts with you. I’m thinking about writing about farts next time.