Fixing the ED addled body is the hardest job in the world. IN THE WORLD. It’s harder than a rubix cube. It’s harder than finding Waldo. And it takes longer than a day. (I have a problem with this in particular.) Apparently it takes about 1,095 days for the body to recover. And that’s a ballpark figure. There is all kinds of plusses and minuses on those days. Climbing Everest would be easier than this. Ordering pizza and b/ping the entire thing would be a lot easier than this. But you know who is up for the challenge? This girl. The fixy challenge, i’ve conquered the pizza more times than I’d like to admit.
I’m putting so much effort into getting healthy. Except seeing doctors because I’m too cheap and I don’t want to step on a scale. I think a scale may send me downward on an Emotional ED Spiral and in the fast lane cuz I’m a veteran. Dr. Google and me. I’m a doctor. That’s right. I have a doctorates in the studies of I’m Rightism, it takes a special kind of person to achieve this achievement. I’m thpeshal.
I am amazed at all the self inflicted damage that has been happening to my body. And it’s only half ignorant. I knew shit was going down, maybe, I just didn’t want to believe it. I’m astonished at how “it won’t happen to me” happened to me. And now I’m trying to climb out of this hole I’ve dug. I can’t even say with certainty that I won’t slip, that I won’t spiral. The minute I think I can say I’m probably a step away from the fall. I say that because that’s what has happened. I’ve had lots of streaks of “healthy” over the years and then I fall back to one.
Sometimes it feels like these streaks are trickery, a false victory meant give the illusion of control and build confidence that I can beat this. And then I think, “Well, I can dabble. Just this once. I already know I’m over it. I can control it. Just this once…” BAM! Face plant. As much as I am proud of all the minutes in a row that I put into recovering, I am equally scared of it.
I feel different about it this time. Although I want to binge and purge sometimes, I don’t feel like I’m teetering on the edge like I have in the past. A lot of this has to do with living on my own. When I lived with my mom it was different. She could through a wrench in my routine at anytime. It felt claustrophobic living with my mom. When I have a rough day now I have my own space. I have solitude. I have routine. I have only healthy food. No naughty temptations taunting me. Nothing to send me flying over the handle (i.e. surprise temptations, surprise guests…surprises).
It’s still very frustrating that I’m in the early stages of recovery. Bulimia is all about instant gratification followed immediately with [somewhat relievey] punishment. But this, this recovery thing is all about slow and steady and barrel rolling. Cuz y’know if you try to get out of the barrel roll too soon it fucks up the show and you have to jump off the train all over again. Or something. FUCK TRAIN JUMPING! LET’S BARREL ROLL Y’ALL! YES!! I digress. The time it takes to recover can be maddening, I am constantly reminding myself of the horrors of ED, to frighten, to humble.
It makes me want to cry what I’ve done to myself. All the damage that needs to be fixed is so uncomfortable and overwhelming. Everyday I am questioning and grasping for answers. “Dr. Google what is happening?” “Dr. Google how can I fix this?” What? Walk like an Egyptian and rub an avocado on my elbow facing East? Seems legit.