Hello you.

You.  Hello you.  I’ve met you before.  A younger, still hopeful, and somewhat arrogant version of me – she met you in a club 10 years ago.  You were unlike anyone she’d ever known and yet somehow, she knew you’d be her undoing.  One date in and that ME knew that she was done for.  She staggered forward anyway.  It’s not like she stood a chance, but she didn’t have a choice.  There wasn’t a world or a lifetime that she wouldn’t fall absolutely and recklessly in love with you.  And that’s just what she did.  That girl would go on to turn herself inside out to love you.  And man, did she love you.  If I’m being honest, I do too.  We never stopped.  Even when your words and your actions and the world would force her to leave the dimension in which we were still one.

And now, a decade later, we meet again.  You look different this time.  Tamer and more refined.   Taller and leaner with perfectly coiffed dark hair, except when it’s not and, God, do I love when it’s not.  And your beard, well it’s fuller and darker and haphazardly flecked with grey and completely different than the one I knew yet I’m still unable to keep my head about me.  You smile less and are conservative with your conversation.  You used to freely offer opinions and compliments and your laughter was barely contained by the edge of your thin lips.  Your jawline is still impossibly pronounced and I will never not crave it against my skin.  My chest constricts with ache to touch these new, fuller lips that act as gate keeper to the thoughts that could only be constructed by an insanely beautiful and flawed mind.  I remember when you eagerly and so damn confidently gave me your heart; you were the most unexpected contradiction and the very best tool to break through my cautionary wall.  But now, you vigilantly barricade your heart and keep your arms rigidly to your side as I plead for you to pry mine from this higher, more fortified wall.

I affect you differently this time.  I never understood the way you looked at me, spoke of me, and protectively held me.  We must have seen different things when we looked at me because you never hesitated to love me even when I couldn’t seem to commit to myself.  All these years later, I must have worn off on you.  You see me differently.  It feels like you might finally see me the way I see me; in jagged pieces.  You seem undecided, torn maybe.  I wish I could go back to the you that was blind to my physical imperfections and found my eclectic quirks endearing.

The form you currently inhabit and the one I first came to love, are very different vessels.  And I can’t deny the canyon of differences in the way you feel this go around.  Your energy seems to emanate from an entirely different source but is breathtaking, nonetheless.  The two of you, you’re not just separated by a decade.  The chasm between you seems impossible to bridge.  But don’t think my soul didn’t recognize you for what you were.  And more than that, I could already foresee what would happen.  Older and broken yet reformed; terrified and stubborn, I already knew I would love you.  How could I not?  I already knew what it felt like to have my soul find its mate.  So I knew that regardless of how you felt, I would fall absolutely and recklessly in love with you.


May 16th, 2017

I relapsed for the first time since being in recovery last summer.  During the 4 months that I was “sober”, binging, purging and restricting never crossed my mind.  I was astonished at how ED seemed to have been completely banished after 10 years of living with it daily.  Recovery looked like it would be the easiest and surest thing in the world.  So I was completely surprised when I found myself in the middle of a binge for no apparent reason and knowing very clearly that it would end in a purge.  I wasn’t stressed and I was unapologetic about what was going down after the longest stint of sobriety I had experienced in a decade.  Fortunately, during this time, I was still seeing Dr. W. every other week.  I was very open when I confessed to the episode and relayed how shocked I was both that it occurred and that I was so indifferent to it.  We combed through the seemingly minor events that preceded it and there were 2 things that she got stuck on.  Both involved me not speaking my truth.  One included me offering forgiveness, reassurance, and wishing happiness upon #3’s mistress when she reached out to me two years after being caught to offer an attempted explanation and apology.  Being motivated to a fault by peace and the avoidance of conflict, it is not unusual for me to attempt to comfort someone who has wronged me.  And I wasn’t fake.  I did feel at peace when I offered this woman compassion and wished her well.  But what she’ll never know, is what I had to pass through to offer her that compassion.  Or the many times going forward that I will have to talk myself down from one of the memories involving her.

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