I was walking through the mall yesterday while headed to the gym. I saw this older man turn to his wife and make a small circle with his fingers and point to my legs. They turned around and I turned to let them know I acknowledged what they were saying. I honestly wanted to cry. If they only understood.
Yes. I know my legs are small. Yes. I know I must look sick. But if you could only see what was going on in my head you certainly wouldn’t point.
I am doing my very, very best. But I would be lying if I didn’t say it was hell. Hell because in some sick twisted way I miss ED. I miss the predictability. I miss having a feeling that doesn’t feel right and correcting it. I miss the routine. I miss the familiarity. Look, he has been a part of my life for so long, how could I not miss him?
But, on the flip side, I have gained new things over the past month. My health. My happiness. My time. My life. Those things are far more important I know than feeling ’empty’ after a laxative binge. I know that. It’s just ED still lives in the back of my head and tries to convince me that he is the better option. It is up to me to insist that I am now in charge.
It is exhausting. Emotionally and physically.
I have no problem being the weight I should be. But the road getting there is so difficult. To put it in simple terms – it fucking sucks. Recovery is worth it but it is the one thing in my life I will have to put all my effort inot so that I can have a life to live.