So I was watching Lord of the Rings last night (Fellowship
of the Ring, extended version), and it got me thinking. In particular, the
beginning with the hobbits got me thinking.
I identify with the hobbits. They're awesome. Sure the elves
are all fancy and junk, but they seemed kind of stuffy and uptight. I would
much rather be a hobbit.
And as I pondered that fanciful notion, I realized that I
pretty much used to BE a hobbit before my eating issues took over every aspect
of my life. I had always taken pleasures in simple comforts, and food used to be
one of those. Not bingeing as I tend to do when I let myself eat a
"normal" amount, but just taking pleasure in food. Eating what I want
when I want. Cooking pretty much all the time just to play with flavours and
try lots of new things. Having a piece of chocolate or some other sweet
indulgence just because it tastes nice. I count alcohol in this as well. I miss
being a beer snob, and appreciating expensive French wines. I miss doing all
that and being happy with myself at the same time.
I WAS happy then, and one should be happy doing those sorts
of things. There's nothing wrong with eating. NOTHING. There's nothing wrong
with a BMI of 20.4. There's nothing wrong with weighing a 3-digit number.
I had a moment last night--it lasted maybe 30 seconds--in
which all of this became so clear and simple that it felt as though a huge
weight had been lifted off my chest. I felt like I could breathe again.
It didn't last, but that's not the point. The point is that
it was there, and it existed for a long time before this disorder. Which means
it can exist again.
It's like trying to remember a vivid dream hours after
you've woken up: You get sudden glimpses of images from the dream and you have
a vague memory of certain emotions that you can't really put into words, but
it's all too hazy to really grasp it. It's getting harder and harder to remember, but
you KNOW it was there.
I used to be happy.
So now I'm trying to force myself to stop and think. Why do
I want to lose more weight? Why, deep down, do I want to look like a chemo
patient? I won't be pretty--no one is pretty when they look sick. And I most
certainly won't be happy. That "woohoo!" feeling of watching numbers
drop on the scale rarely ever lasts more than an hour or so after the weigh-in.
Instead, I'm just back to being miserable.
I'm sick of hating myself. SICK OF IT.
So am I giving Recovery a proper try? (Again?) Maybe I
shouldn't call it "recovery," because by now I really hate that word.
Instead, I'm going to try Living again. This obsession with food and numbers
and weight is not living; it's turning me into the walking dead. It's
exhausting and depressing and hateful and no good will ever come of it.
I'm not gonna lie--it's also terrifying. It's like me with
my vertigo trying to walk in a straight line without tripping or falling down.
So easy to fall, and one tiny little slip up is enough to send everything
crashing back down. Being content with myself is a completely alien feeling by
now, but I'm going to try and hold onto it as tight as I can. I'm so sick of
living in this nightmare.
....that being said, I'm going to apologize in advance if I
stop giving some of your blogs the attention I have in the past. As much as I
hate to admit to such a human weakness as being "triggered," I'd be
lying if I said I wasn't triggered when reading about starving and fasting and
purging and whatnot. I'll keep checking in on everyone's blogs, but I may have
to pass over some of the posts.
It doesn't mean I love any of you any less. <3
