Recently I’ve been doing some thinking…. about myself, recovery, and life in general.
Real recovery is like ripping off a bandaid.
Those of you who have been following this blog for a while have seen my ups and downs. I went from thinking everything was ok, into one of the worst relapses yet, and back here again. And all I can say is – what a journey. I believe everything in this life happens for a reason, and although there are things I know now I wish I had known then, I trust that someday I will see the sense in it all.
Ironically I’ve also come to realize that when I seemed to have the things mostly together – was actually the point I was still really ill. It was just before I started studying, before the first year of uni. I was eating soooo healthy all the time, I was exercising , everything was planned and under control. Heck if you didn’t know me that well you might actually belive that facade. Unfortunatly, nothing could be further from the truth. I had never recovered from my last relapse – I had simply gone into remission. And with recovery there is no standing still, you are either moving forward or slipping back.
Real recovery only really started this summer, when I finally realized I had a problem. And that’s when the shit really hit the fan (excuse the language). It’s when the carefully constructed world started tubling down around me, the facade I fought so hard to keep up just came crashing down. And all that control I had – I gave it up. And then started the cycle of restricted eating/binge eating, healthy and unhealthy diets and everything in between. But I learned, I grew and I moved forward and I continue to do so day by day.
While I was in “remission” I might call it – it was almost like being in an abusive relationship. You try to pretend everything is fine for the benefit of those around you, and after a while you live that live so long you actually believe it. But you stay in that relationship because it provides you with security – it’s something you already know. Only when you leave do you realize just how much it ruined you, how emotionally shattered and vulnerable you are. But only then do you have the chance to be really, truly happy.
I’m still picking up the peices to be honest. Although my body may be healthy, my mind isn’t there yet. I’m still learning to accept, adjust and love the new me. I’m still trying to find myself without the “skinny girl” identity. It’s not easy, I still have days I break down and cry, days I want to run back to the old “me” again, even days I just don’t want to face the world. But do I regret recovery – never once.
Recovery is a bitch. Like ripping off a bandaid there is lots of pain and tears involved. There’s no use pretending it’s any other way. But only once that’s done can we truly begin to heal. And only then will we ever know what true happiness is.