Sunday Thoughts: To Those Who Deserved More

I want to be truthful to myself, and to those who care about me. I think I am finally, at the age of nineteen, starting to realise something: I will never feel ready to make a full recovery from my eating disorder. I will not wake up one morning and decide that now is the time to let go, that now it all makes sense, and I can move on. I have put all of my faith into when and if and one day, but I have lost so much in the process.

On Monday, I was told for the hundredth time that with each passing day I spend in this quasi recovery, the prognosis gets worse. The likelihood of me being forever infertile increases every month. I am fast exhausting all treatment options. But absolutely nothing seems to make it real for me, and in truth, recovery has never been the priority. Even last year, when I spent months in a day treatment facility and was supervised for every meal, I was so detached from the process. As discharge into the community loomed, my tummy bubbled with excitement over the snacks I could "cut out", and the meals I would be "too busy for". I hate myself for this. So many people invested so much time and care into me, and still I chose my illness. I let people tell me I was strong, and inspirational, when I was anything but.

I thought I was doing all the right things, and I fooled those around me into thinking I had turned a corner. Finally. I genuinely fooled myself. But even then, it was not recovery. "I'll gain weight, but I'll maintain the slimmest figure I possibly can." "I'll eat more, just so long as it's not chocolate, or cake." "I'll stop making myself sick, unless I eat too much, in which case I have to, right?" Even now, I'm adamant that I can balance athletic training with weight restoration just fine, but really? It will never work. I am running before I can walk. And I am so angry with myself. I have been so wrong.

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"Others are flourishing, and growing, and loving. But it's okay, I'll lose another pound". 

"I do not tell my friends how much I love them. But I skipped breakfast this morning, and that's something". 

"My Mother is so kind, and so gentle, and I take advantage of that. But there is a gap between my thighs, and I feel dizzy if I stand too quickly." 

"I do not deserve their love, their friendship, their kindness. I do not deserve good things, and so I will not fight for them."

A summary of my teenage years.

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I have been lying to myself for so long, and all the while I have lost precious years to this illness, precious moments with family. Precious friendships. I have chosen the bully in my head, over the things that are truly valuable, and I will not do it anymore.

The truth is, I didn't develop an eating disorder out of nowhere. When I decided that the perfect solution was to make myself smaller, I was suppressing something really big. Controlling something, avoiding something, running from something. Always. I thought I could let go of my illness, whilst still skirting around the real issue. But I will find it, and I will figure it out. I won't give up until I do.

I have not been an inspiration, a role model, and I have not been brave. I am so sorry.  More than anything, I am sorry to those I pushed away in the process, and if you're reading this, you'll know who you are. I love fiercely, but I have not known how to show you. I'm sorry I didn't try harder. I'm sorry I didn't fight for what mattered.

There are so many things I cannot heal, relationships I cannot rebuild. But I am making a promise to myself, and to you. I will stop lying, stop running from the truth. Stop running altogether for now, if I must. I will not add to the statistic of those who never recover, and I will learn from my mistakes. I will do it in the absence of readiness, and I will do it no matter what.

S xxx