I expected it to get tough, and, it has done. There is an unsettling comfort about being home; about the ability to act upon my own free will with food and daily rituals, and the terrifying disturbance of not knowing, at times, what is me and what is my anorexia. What is the choice I am making and what choices my eating disorder is making for me.
Last week I was doing relatively well. I think a good 30% of myself was acting upon free will and making positive life decisions regarding, well, life, in regards to my health, my social well being, my food choices, and my future, I wanted to make it. Really though, I was waiting for the fall – didnt I mention that? 30 percent though, was good, considering I’d spent the last half a decade hopelessly living under my eating disorders powers, rules and constraints. I had been acting upon zero percent of my free will before admission, despite desperately wanting to, so thirty percent was a good start.
But I knew, there would be a (terrifying point) at which I would be come face to face with it, again. I didnt know which point, exactly, and I new that maybe I wouldnt even notice it at first, that maybe it would creep or follow me for while (and then bite me on the ass), but I just knew that it would. I was also petrified that it would innocently camouflage itself so well into other things – patterns, habits, other life’s meanderings, that I wouldnt immediately notice it until it had neatly dug itself a new life into my life once again, to the point at which I didnt have the physical, mental or emotional strength to dig my whole self out, because I was too deep, or because it had (again) gotten to the point where I didnt know what was me and what was the disease, or what was my life, my choices or what were the disorders choices and the boundaries and constraints it had bound onto the life I had tried so hard to start to create for myself.
In so many ways, Im helpless, hopeless, angry (so so, so angry), tired (so incredibly tired), more confused than I have ever been about what is right and wrong, what is normal, and what is left to do and which way I go in order to progress “forward”. Im also desperate for answers, where I guess, there are none.
“Each morning we are born again. What we do today is what matters most” – Buddha
Saturday my grandmother treated me to a bike I’d had my eye on for rather a long time as a gift for moving away. She said she hoped I’d be happy riding it along the coast line with my basket full of fresh produce from the market. I gave it a test drive over the weekend and my quad muscles are still sore from the ride. I have so many feelings relating to leaving this place. A huge part of me is itching to go, and at the same time I’m so sad to leave.