I tend to follow a certain pattern. I try very hard to be 'normal' or 'recovered' and then I throw in the towel for one of many reasons and I start relapsing or regressing depending on your definitions and then I start rereading Wasted. It's the only novel I have read more than 3 times... this is probably close to my 10th or more. I tend to read it at the beginning of a relapse/crisis and then toward the end. The end I think in order to remind myself of how messed up it all is and to remember why I should not want to live this way. The beginning like now? I think it's because even though I know I am one of millions, I feel so very alone and not normal.
I could be obsessive about exercise and healthy eating and find dozens to talk to and it be socially acceptable. I could over eat, eat terrible and be over weight and find dozens to talk to and it be socially acceptable. Not so much for someone who is stuck uncontrollably purging what they eat to the point that starvation is really preferable. People in my boat are out there in lager numbers, but you can't just talk about it.
I lucked out in a way finding J when I did because I truly knew I wasn't alone and I could really attempt to talk about my feelings with someone I thought understood. I'm alone again though because she has been recovered from a much milder case than mine for 6 years now. I have to keep how I'm really doing to myself from her now or risk triggering her. I won't mess with someone else's progress.
So I'm reading old faithful again because no one has published something I can relate to more than Marya. "I had a secret. It was a guilty secret, certainly. But it was my secret. I had something to hold on to. It was company. It kept me calm.". This struck me tonight.
I miss being 'sick'. I miss hiding it. I miss justifying it. I miss is defining me. In the 2ish years I attempted (more than ever before) to be recovered and healthy, I felt so empty. It was like I was having an identity crisis and I tried desperately to define myself in many different ways (including a very dysfunctional relationship). But I missed the identity of eating disordered. I missed wearing the badge. I missed people knowing or wondering. I guess it's just been such a part of me for so long.
I'm restricting because once again the bulimia is out of control, but really I can't wait for restriction to take hold and I also, sort of, can't wait for people to take notice. I'll hate it when it happens but it will mean I achieved something on some level. And no matter how many ways I achieve, that one always seems to mean more to me.
I could be obsessive about exercise and healthy eating and find dozens to talk to and it be socially acceptable. I could over eat, eat terrible and be over weight and find dozens to talk to and it be socially acceptable. Not so much for someone who is stuck uncontrollably purging what they eat to the point that starvation is really preferable. People in my boat are out there in lager numbers, but you can't just talk about it.
I lucked out in a way finding J when I did because I truly knew I wasn't alone and I could really attempt to talk about my feelings with someone I thought understood. I'm alone again though because she has been recovered from a much milder case than mine for 6 years now. I have to keep how I'm really doing to myself from her now or risk triggering her. I won't mess with someone else's progress.
So I'm reading old faithful again because no one has published something I can relate to more than Marya. "I had a secret. It was a guilty secret, certainly. But it was my secret. I had something to hold on to. It was company. It kept me calm.". This struck me tonight.
I miss being 'sick'. I miss hiding it. I miss justifying it. I miss is defining me. In the 2ish years I attempted (more than ever before) to be recovered and healthy, I felt so empty. It was like I was having an identity crisis and I tried desperately to define myself in many different ways (including a very dysfunctional relationship). But I missed the identity of eating disordered. I missed wearing the badge. I missed people knowing or wondering. I guess it's just been such a part of me for so long.
I'm restricting because once again the bulimia is out of control, but really I can't wait for restriction to take hold and I also, sort of, can't wait for people to take notice. I'll hate it when it happens but it will mean I achieved something on some level. And no matter how many ways I achieve, that one always seems to mean more to me.
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