I am absolutely frustrated and discouraged. I don't think I can do this much longer. I knew this was going to happen -- I knew the first day would be scary, but exciting and full of determination. The second day would be slightly easier than the first. The third day, however, is not a charm. The third day brings to light all of the unpretty parts of recovery. The uncomfortable fullness, the bloated stomach, the panic, the disappointment, the panic, the terror of not knowing where to start or what to do, the panic, the guilt, the panic and the guilt, and the tears.
I really don't know what to do. I guess therapy is the biggest piece of this puzzle. Is it? Am I putting too much weight in the therapy process? I don't think so. But then again, I don't know what to think. I feel like the more I eat, the less I am able to think. I know that can't be true, but that's what I currently feel. It is probably because when I wasn't eating, I didn't have the worry about what I had just eaten. I was kind of just floating around in this odd, strangely holy state. Lightheaded and comfortably out of it. I knew I was pretty much killing myself, but the fasting pumped my brain with certain chemicals that made it all worth it. I felt pure.
And now I don't. And now I don't know what to do now that the bubble has popped and I am forced to be fleshy and messy. I feel completely lost. I would rather starve than be found. I'd rather disappear than be seen.
Let's see what the fourth day brings.