This week I’ve had a bit of a harsh reminder about what life is like when you give in to your eating disorder.
I was hesitant about writing it down. I don’t want my younger sister to think that I’ve stumbled because I want her to look up to me. I don’t want my parents to worry because they’ve spent enough days in their life worrying about me. And I don’t want people to think that I’ve relapsed and shit’s got bad again; because it hasn’t. This is just a blip. However, I chose to share my thoughts so that it remains a blip. Plus, I need my voice to be louder than ed’s at the moment.
I have had many strong months of recovery and days went by where I rarely gave a seconds thought to my eating disorder. However, during the last couple of weeks, I have found myself slowly letting the voice back in.
At first, I tried to convince myself that I wasn’t doing any harm. Heck, the whole world seemed to be on some sort of January detox so what was the harm in me trying to make a few healthier choices. However, when I am really rational about it, I know deep down that I can’t diet like others can, and I don’t need too. This is still something I have to regularly remind myself of, because some days the temptation is rife.
This week I gave into the temptation. I spent last weekend with my boyfriend in London and we went out for loads of nice meals and drinks. At the time I loved it, yet this week I punished myself for it. Where’s the justice in that? I have started listening to ed again and like always, it has made me unhappy. I go to bed hungry, I never feel full, I have less energy and I waste countless hours of the day preoccupied about what I’ll eat at the next meal time or what I can try and cut out. I go to bed with a sigh of relief that I made it through three restrictive meals and go to bed either thinking of the calories I cut out that day or crying because I feel so low. It’s madness and it doesn’t make me happy.
Sometimes when I feel down, I just want my boyfriend to give me a big hug and tell me everything will be ok. But I don’t want him to know that I’m unhappy because I’m listening to this mean, punishing, shit of a voice called an eating disorder. I met him when my eating disorder was, in many ways, a thing of the past. I don’t want him to have to be a part of it today. I want to know that when he tells me I look beautiful it’s because he means it. Not just because he thinks it’s the right thing to say and will make me feel better. I want him to care about me because he loves me, not care for me because he thinks I’m ill.
Looking at the pictures on my wall from my gradation, results days, a weekend away with my boyfriend and summer ball, I’m reminded of so many happy days when I wasn’t listening to ed. This week may have been tough but I am going to try and turn things around. It has taught me, once again, that ed doesn’t make me happy. Loosing a few pounds isn’t worth it if it means being miserable for weeks. Eating cake, drinking cocktails, going out and having fun is worth every second. So bring on the weekend…