This bitch is back! Kind of. It has been somewhat difficult for me to write lately solely due to the fact that I have about a thousand million billion other things on my mind and just as many things on my to do list. To do lists are crap, right? Okay, maybe not crap. But they sure do serve as a perfect reminder that I never get anything done. (This could be easily be solved by not adding so many items on my to do list. So let me add "simplify to do list" to my to do list. Do do do la la la slowly going insane no wait rapidly going insane la la la do do do.)
Patience patience patience. Repeat. I need to practice the utmost patience with myself, especially right now. It has only been a little over a week since I was in the little, cold emergency room. It has only been a little over a week since I stopped taking these little pills that are hugely addictive and highly destructive. I feel like the steps I have taken since then are too little to count, but if only I would gain some perspective, I'd see how far I have already come.
Speaking of gaining... Sigh. This is one of the hardest parts of recovery -- gaining weight. It is one of the hardest and probably the most necessary. It's necessary for the obvious reason of, well, it'll keep you alive. But it is also necessary because it will allow your brain to start functioning properly again, causing all of the other necessary steps (working through emotional junk! responding to life events! becoming a functioning, thriving member of society!) in recovery to be taken without so much grief and struggle. Still. Still it is not at all a piece of cake. Pun? Because that piece of cake is like summiting Everest.
And doesn't that seem kind of lame and a bit selfish? Eating a piece of delicious cake shouldn't be compared to climbing Earth's highest mountain. But why shouldn't it? It's not the cake. It's not the flour, the sugar, the eggs, the butter. It's the release of the control which kept you safe for so long. Safe? Yes, as well as unsafe. The control I had over food and my body gave me the safety of numbness. If I didn't have to feel emotions, if I didn't have to confront failures and fears, if I could live in delusion from day to day, I was safe. Temporarily.
The illusion of safety is not a life, though. It is cold. There is no warmth that comes from the blood, flesh, and sweat of everyday experiences. It is just... sad. I don't want to stay stuck in that no man's land. I must constantly remind myself that this flood of emotions I am currently experiencing is, in fact, a good thing. Exhausting, sure, but necessary if I ever want to recover.
And I want to recover. I think. I want to get to the point where I do not second guess my desire to recover. I want to get to the point where I embrace the fear, the unknown, the messiness of life rather than shutting off and shutting down. Open up, Meg. Open open open.