Dear Bee,
Yesterday afternoon was hard. Yep. We had a minor setback.
The context: I’ve been dealing with anxiety and struggling with acceptance. I wrote about this yesterday. During these heightened moments, you become the most tantalizing friend in my universe. You are my gut instinct. Not deep breaths. Not relaxing baths, calming naps, or venting to someone on the phone. Not even writing. Okay, sometimes, writing. But, my first reaction is to jump right back to where we left off. Your arms are open wide, and you promise to take care of me. My loving eating disorder, you have such a sweet voice sometimes.
Eventually, I would love to immediately gravitate towards a healthy coping mechanism, but for now, I must make that conscious decision during times of stress. I am still used to punishing, harming, and hurting myself. At my worst, I struggle to believe I am worthy or good enough to deserve the virtuous life recovery offers.
I became really hungry around 10am yesterday. Maybe breakfast was too small. Maybe I didn’t eat enough the day before. And then, the head games started spinning. Eat. Don’t eat. Eat a little bit. Wait until you’re hungrier. You’re not supposed to be hungry. You’re going out tonight- don’t eat too much. Just wait until lunch. No, don’t do that…you’ll overeat at lunch. Maybe just wait it out a few more hours.
I ate a snack. An appropriate one.
I was hungry again by lunchtime.
I came home and ate. And continued eating. A lot of food in a short amount of time. Sugar. In a frenzy. Numbed out. I was well aware of what I was doing. That meme all the foods came to mind.
And yet, you always have a good way of rationalizing my self-sabotaging.
There is a silver lining, and that is what I want to focus on right now. Two important things happened yesterday:
1. I forgave myself. Immediately. I had to decide to do this. I wasn’t happy with myself. I didn’t feel comfortable in my skin for the rest of the day, and, to be honest, I still feel “fat,” but I also realized it was not the end of the world. I was not a failure for bingeing, and I am not doomed to repeat this again and again. I am human, and I make mistakes, and I am in recovery, and this happens in recovery. Does it feel good? No. Do I want to do it again? No. Will I do it again? I don’t know. I only know this moment, and in this moment, I feel okay.
2. I told my boyfriend exactly how I was feeling and we processed it together. I’ve never done this with someone other than my old sponsor or a mental health professional of some sort. Even though I understand his supportive nature, you like to convince me that I am damaged and unlovable, and therefore, I must keep you a secret from all the world. I got to his place, and we started walking his dog. I told him that I felt anxious. Anxious over what? Well, I’m anxious over school. Over clients. Over having no idea what in the hell to expect with said clients. The unknown stirs anxiety. The unknown makes me doubt myself.
Afterwards, we lied down on his bed, and I told him that it had been a tough afternoon. That I was feeling triggered and emotional and vulnerable, and I didn’t know how to quite handle those feelings. I wanted to be comforted by my eating disorder, and I just needed to tell him that. I’m trying so hard to be honest and transparent, which counteracts what you want me to do, so it still feels strange. I could hear you telling me to shut up, to stop talking, to just keep throwing a string of I don’t know’s and it’s not that bad and I’ll be okay at him. But that wasn’t my reality. And he knew it. I did know. It was bad. And I was not okay. You aren’t my friend. You can’t love me. You can’t take care of me the way I once thought you could.
With him, I was able to release my anxiety. I was able to release feeling triggered. I was able to turn my afternoon around.
We went to a reggae festival by the beach that evening with a bunch of my friends, and it was a great time. Honestly, one of the best nights I’ve had this summer. I was surrounded by love, good music, and just positive vibes all around. It has been very hot here, but at night, it felt amazing. I wasn’t in my head; I was in the moment, where I need and want to be.
And my intelligent ass scheduled a therapy session at 8am on a Sunday morning because we haven’t met in a month, and I have no idea what my schedule is going to look like once I start training this week. I was half-awake. Luckily no alcohol hangover (I only had two beers over the course of several hours) and no food hangover (the quantity of the binge was about a 5-6 on a scale from 1-10, and it happened in the afternoon, so most had been digested). We mostly just talked about my trip and school and the boyfriend. Eating disorder issues were barely mentioned. I guess I would rather work on other stuff in therapy now. There aren’t many other interventions to do in session. It’s just about integrating the coping skills and techniques I do know into my everyday life and doing the best I can. That’s all I can really ask for myself.
So today is a gorgeous day, and I’m about to make the best of it.
