Relapse

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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Still here, huh?

In just a few days National Eating Disorders Awareness week will commence.  Which means it’s been one year since I came out.  I came clean in the name of bravery, compassion, healing, and helping.  Or at least I believed those were my reasons.  I announced to my little world that for years I was ensnared in the hungry jaws of an eating disorder.  For a decade, I played puppet to a master whose commands differed so greatly from one moment to the next that the strings holding me upright were twisted and tangled and hardly even functional.  I spent years counting steps and calories; pounds and fat percentages until my body ignored my calculations and stopped responding to my efforts to control it.  And probably much like a teenager, it began to rebel and do the opposite despite my hysterical and erratic demands.  I put on weight and retained water; my eyes were puffy and blood shot from the strain of purging and my gag reflex built up a tolerance to my bitter efforts to expel any trace of a binge.

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Time out

I put myself in time out.  Like the disciplinary kind of time out in which you put your kid in the corner to get them to think about the what and why of their behavior, I needed a minute or a handful of months to reevaluate my goals in blogging.  If I’m being honest, it probably had a lot to do with the reason I presented you with, but also there could be an uglier, less altruistic reason.

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