It's like all you're doing is fighting against yourself and you know, there is a chance that you will never win.
I've been doing so well.
That's such a lie.
If I silently sit back and reflect, it would appear I'm just swapping old symptoms for new ones, or for really old ones. Due to legitimately not being able to engage in symptoms I'm so fond of out of pain/fear, I've come up with more "healthy" things to keep myself occupied with.
I get tricked so easily!
Laying in bed at 1:23am and I can't bare the silence. I can't bare my own thoughts, my own feelings. The sound of my own breath makes me cringe, I need to hear something other than me so I try to focus on the cars passing by in the streets. It doesn't work. Playing music on VEVO keeps my anxiety at bay momentarily before I realize my cellphone bill is going to be through the roof.
A difficult time with sheer silence is an understatement. My anxiety levels go on a rampage when I realize it's just me and my brain. Maybe hence why I'm always keeping busy. Work, social media, exercising, reading, walking, texting, music, dancing. Anything at all. But what happens when there is no choice but to sit in it. Sit in the silence. What I really want to do is scream at the top of my lungs, punch something, throw a temper tantrum or cry like a two year old. When none of these are a likely option... Then what? I write. I'm writing because what I really want to do right now is go for a run. I've been sitting here counting the hours until I can get outside again and move. What am I running from? Myself, my reality. My legs try to go faster, to separate from myself, but my body knows it will never escape itself. I need to except where I am and be okay with it and move forward. I feel almost as if I've hit a blockade where, on my own, I can't move forward. Maybe it's time to go back to group therapy. Where I'm heard, where I'm understood and where I learn. I convinced myself a long time ago that I'm not sick enough to go back to group, I'm not thin enough to need help anymore. Someone tell me where the logic in that is please?
I'm not where I started. I'm not where I was a year ago when I began this blog even. I'm somewhere different. Better? Maybe. Worse? No. Simply different. The goal is still the same though, the ideal number hasn't gone away. My perfectionistic ways have yet to cease and the obsession is still there. The eating disorder morphs itself into something new, something that has me believing I'm happier. Happier until its quiet. Rules changed because I was catching on, I didn't want to play anymore. I refuse to believe I'm falling deeper into it instead of coming more out of it. I'd also be a fool to not know how easily I can fall back into it.
Cancer patients have to take some nasty meds. They dread the meds as much as you dread the quiet. This is part of the healing process. Oh of course you might hit a snag, but you know that ED's voice isn't your true nature. It's a fake. When you started this journey, you could not distingish between your own inner voice and that of ED. Being able to do so is a sign that you are on the path to wellness. Everything happens for a reason. Look into the painful memories of your life and reflect on how and when Ed showed his sorry self. You have mentioned how you lay on the floor curled up in a ball crying. Soon those days will be done. Everyday and in every way you get stronger. You know you are getting stronger. Yes, everyday say to yourself. "I know what is real and what is an illusion." You know what's real... Tolle says in disc 8 of The New Earth, "If you were to get thru to the anorexic person that their Pain Body is lying to them. The ED would cease almost immediately." (paraphrased)
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