I cannot remember the last time I purged. It has been a few weeks which in my world is nothing short of a miracle. I am still uncomfortable in this body, at this weight and size. That is the hardest part of recovery: acceptance. I made the mistake of looking at photos of myself from a year ago when I was at least 10-15lbs lighter than I am now. I still think I looked better then. I still want to look like that. I know I can look like that any time I want as long as I return to ED. For me, that always feels like it is just around the corner because I have never survived the process of recovery long enough to actually be well in any sense of the word.
Recovery is hard. It is harder than I ever remember it. I have been out of town for two weeks staying with friends and traveling with my boyfriend, which meant that I was not in control of when, what or how much I ate. It caused me anxiety. It reminded me that ED is alive and well and active in my life. My girlfriend served me waffles for breakfast (smothered in cream and syrup). She gave me pizza and wine for dinner. The loss of control even from my regime of recovery overwhelms me. I cannot even stick to my exercise regime. I go to bed each night certain that I will not last another day eating like this. I wriggled in to my size 26 skinny jeans last night and nearly cried. They hung off me just a few months ago.
I had my first fight with my boyfriend this week (we have been dating 3 months now). We spent five days together in which I discovered that he flies by the seat of his pants and the structure, scheduling, planning and details that I thrive on where nowhere to be seen. I was out of my depth (for real: we hiked 45km in 2 days). Usually I would have got through a fight with a massive binge/purge session that went on for days. Today I have sat here with my feelings of disappointment and anger and sadness. I have not died from them. They have filled me, weighed me down, made me squirm. Usually I would have starved these feelings away. Today I have faced the (very real) possibility that despite a promising start, this might be the end of us. It has not killed me. I still feel uncomfortable sitting here with these feelings just as I felt uncomfortable last night eating nachos with my friends and not purging after. I do not know what it means to feel. I only know what it means to numb pain or to create physical pain to subdue the emotional anguish I am in. The silence from him echoes. It is deafening. ED is clamouring to be let back in so that I can make it through this. ED will silence everything, I know.
I still want to count calories, to restrict, to wake up thinner tomorrow and maybe, just maybe pretend that I can be thin enough and recovered at the same time.
Today I have the faith to hang on to recovery for just one more day. Tomorrow I pray for that same faith in case I stumble along the way.