One late night last week, I laid in bed and reflected on last year. I thought about how much I’ve changed and grown over the years and how much happier I have become. I let my memories scatter and fill my brain, and at some point, the glorification kicked in.
I was remembering ED (my eating disorder) for what I thought it “gave” me rather than what it robbed me of. I suddenly caught myself smiling as I thought just how breathtaking it was to feel great at something, even if that something was an eating disorder.
It felt… empowering! I felt like I was in control. The feeling of complete and utter emptiness was euphoric to me. My shivering felt like a test of my strength and determination, and nothing would deter me from reaching my goal.
I grabbed my pillow and took a deep breath. I can’t deny that there are days where I still miss you, ED. I miss all that I thought you gave me.
And then there are days where the rose colored glasses just don’t exist.
The real truth is that I hate you, ED. My eating disorder never made feel great at something, it made me think that if I listened to it, one day I would earn the right to be called great… but I was great at so much to begin with.
I was great at being a daughter, great at being a sister, great at being a friend, and great at being a person who exuded love and compassion.
Control? It’s crazy to think I truly believed I was the one in control. Yeah, I didn’t consume that cookie everyone else had for dessert, but that was not my “self-control,” that was ED’s demand.
Being able to take a step back and remember the entirety of this disorder allowed me to remember both the good and bad.
Yes, there were momentary feelings of joy that were brought on through sickness. But there were even more feelings of fear, loneliness, fatigue, heartache, despair, and self-hate. And no matter what ED whispers, I can’t forget the honest truth, the burden I was forced to bare.
So, here it is, the honest truth… I don’t know if I’m recovered. I don’t know if I ever will be. I don’t know if recovery truly exists. I do believe that someday, all of those who struggle with this same battle will be able to live a relatively normal life. A life that is not narrow but wide beyond belief.
Still, I won’t sit here and deny the fact that hard days still hit me like a freight train. Last week, the guilt of a single dark chocolate Trader Joe’s Peanut-butter Cup brought me to tears and utter panic.
Two weeks ago, I had to talk myself through eating breakfast. I had to hear the words out loud.
I had to hear that I deserved the fuel and the energy, that I needed it and was justified in having it. I shouldn’t need to justify being deserving of food, being deserving of the energy which keeps us alive.
So no, I might not be “recovered” and I might not ever be, but I am living the most authentic life I can. One I had never thought would be possible when my life was the narrow scope of gym, calories, numbers, and self-hate.
My eating disorder may not be “long forgotten” but it is certainly not in control of me anymore. I make the rules and I live freely, and on the days where ED chooses to push his way in, he’s a faint little whisper that I now have the strength to shut down and push aside.
