I cried this morning. I got out of bed, I used the toilet, I got on the scales and then I cried. I was so immediately swept up by the tears that I didn't even have time to get off the scales, a move that might just have made me feel a little better. Instead, I stood feet rooted to the plastic of the scales, eyes rooted to the solidity of the number, and fat... well, fat rooted just about everywhere. Through my tears, I got off the scales and got back on, and I did this 7 times- a time, a punishment, for each of the kilos I need to lose- each time having to see that bloated and deformed number. The number that now, 3 hours on, I can still see; burned on to my eyes, like the purple blobs you get after looking at the sun. A blob. That's about right.
I am horrified. I am horrified at my own powers for destruction, borne from so many tiny little incidents over the last week. A comment from somebody. A problem with my scales. A conversation with somebody I haven't spoken to for a while. Fear that somebody may be angry at me. Stupid comments about me, and not even to me, made on the internet. I am terrified of my own fragility, I need to be strong and I need to be my own inspiration. I've managed that to a degree- I used to get so disillusioned when I saw people around me struggle, that it would immediately have an impact on my own eating disorder. And so I realised that I needed to disconnect; you can care about somebody without correlating your entire mindset and health with theirs. I needed to stop drawing inspiration from the achievements of other people, because their limitations would then hit me so hard. But I still can't separate within myself people's comments and the level of effect I should let them have. I don't know if you know this, but I've actually been doing really well. Not perfectly- I haven't eaten enough and my weight has been falling, but it hasn't been falling dramatically. I HAVE BEEN FINE. A week ago, I'd have told you I was in recovery from Anorexia and Bulimia.
And now? I know a week means nothing, a week is a lapse and nothing else. But I need a ladder and that's what I can't find. I can't find, or rather, I don't KNOW, the means to get myself away from this lapse and that's what's so terrifying. I don't think my behaviours are suddenly going to be as bad as they were... I don't want to get in detail, because that's not fair to people reading this who also have eating disorders. It would also be entirely unnecessary to the point I'm trying to make.
But it's the feel and the deja vu- it's the sitting in lecture picking at bits of skin, because then you'll have a little less flesh. It's the leg shaking and the caffeine overdoses and the working out that each piece of chewing gum needs to be chewed for at least 9 minutes 16 seconds to ensure that you burn more calories than it has in it. It's knowing that you aren't even control of your thoughts, the very thing that even make you human. It's knowing that that lack of control is in danger of making you a shell again, a vessel of disease and little else- the shedding of the humanity that you worked so hard to achieve. Lapses are harder than the original descend into illness, it's the difference between walking into the unknown and being dragged back into a hell that you'd tunnelled out of, with a plastic spoon.
I think that if.. no. I don't know. Maybe the most important thing here is that I'm not willing for my eating disorder to rise up and take control of my life, as I've let it do in the past. That's right, LET it do. I will beat down anybody who claims eating disorders are a choice, because that's not fair. But fighting IS a choice and I will fight. I missed one class this week because the stress of all this is exhausting me, but I haven't missed any lectures. I missed a night out and I'm missing another tomorrow, but at the end of the day, I'm recovering from a serious illness- I can afford to miss things for that, as long as I don't use the time to indulge my eating disorder, in any way. I will not hide.