I’ve had a lot going on in the old brain these past few months and I’m just finally getting to grips with the facts that coincide with relapsey periods (I don’t think relapsey is a word but hey). I’m sorry for the lack of posts, and I’m sorry if there are still weeks where there a gaping wholes in this blog, but I hope you can still find reassurance in the fact that this blog is a safe place for me and for (hopefully!) everybody, so I will never be away from it too long. I didn’t really know what to post today, well not just today, these past few months really. I’ve stared on positive blogs, posted a few photos here and there, but didn’t want to bring anybody down with negative thoughts. I’m in a weird mindset this evening. Cosy in pyjamas and with a few evening snacks, I see hope, but also how crap these past years have been. I’m also realising this evening, how sick I am. One of the biggest ongoing battles for me is the constant question of, ‘Am I sick enough?’. Ridiculous isn’t it? You ask a person with pneumonia if they want to get better, and they’ll nod their head so quickly it clicks their neck out of place for a second, but ask me if I want to recover from this eating disorder and I’ll probably need to consider the pros and cons for at least four days before giving you an answer. No sense. No reasoning behind it. If you told me I could recover and not gain weight I’d be there like a shot. But that’s not part of the deal. But it’s there in the back seated thoughts every single day, when I step on the scale backwards at the clinic, praying that the number hasn’t increased because then they’ll stop thinking I’m sick. When they ask how things are going, and I’m torn between lying about how brilliant they’ve been, or breaking down into tears. I can’t tell them, because that’s not how it goes. You keep it a secret until you are skinny and frail. Then you can tell them, right?
I heard a simple line the other day that forced me back into reality. It sort of jolted me into adopting a slightly less tainted perspective, and also reassured every doubt. It simply was ‘If you don’t think you are ‘sick enough’ you are very sick indeed’. I’d never even thought about how not, well, normal, it is to wish to be sicker. Even though I was (supposedly) ‘recovering’, each time I’d eat a sweet or dinner that was over 100 calories, I’d question the reality of this eating disorder. I’d question the strength and control I had, and the weaknesses I was showing. Every time I want to eat, I really am disgusted for having the hunger and no strength to ignore it. I look back at older photos, even a few months, and am unquestionably jealous of the hunger, sicker girl. Is it normal to wish to be sicker, to wish to be closer to death? It’s not.
Ending up in hospital shouldn’t be a goal. Hospital is where people go when their life is in danger. When they are clinging onto life by a single thread. It is a desperate attempt at saving them, and isn’t always successful.
If you are struggling, you are struggling. You don’t have to prove it, you don’t have to look as if you’re struggling.
You don’t have to prove you have an Eating Disorder to anybody. If you truly need help and are truly struggling, that is enough.
Stay safe and strong,
Featured image doesn’t belong to me = All rights belong to owner.