This is what eating disorder therapy looks like – Day 6

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I woke up feeling so funny this morning.

I literally didn’t leave my house because I was so horrified that I would go out and buy food and binge and purge! I woke up in a complete panic, so anxious and so edgy and I still don’t know why? So I had a bowl of muesli and yogurt and I had anxiety medication and went to sleep and then woke up at 10:30 – that hasn’t happened in forever. I’m an early bird.

Still so anxious when I woke up, I decided to paint – I was freaking out, honestly I ave never been so afraid of myself and of my eating disorder. I lay on my floor crying, crying because I am here again. Yes we all go on and on about how a relapse is perfectly natural as your body will naturally resort to familiar coping mechanisms when under pressure. But who gives a fuck if its natural, it doesn’t make it any easier. And we all sit preaching to each other to stay strong and to be gentle with ourselves. Well again, thats a lot easier said than done. We would all love to be softer and not be so hard on ourselves, but your eating disorder is screaming with a microphone in your brain and your voice seems to just get lost and becomes white noise.

And you just lay there and you just cry. Because you feel like such a failure. So much work, so much pain and so many years and so many hospital visits and so many therapists and so many dieticians and so many pills and so many electrolyte tests. Then one day you wake up and half your life is gone and you feel so guilty because you should actually be crying because you got divorced yet that makes you feel so relieved! Its this illness that weighs you down, it hurts you more than any heartbreak in this world could and now you back there again. Maybe you not wearing the hospital wrist band with your surname on it, but you might as well be, because you feel like you back there. You sitting with everyone outside and everyone is smoking and you all discussing the reason you in the hospital and Pedro is shaking because his OCD is so intense at that moment that he so badly wants a drink and Colleen has closed the curtain around her bed and tells you through the curtains that on her weekend pass she tried to commit suicide and now she is too ashamed to even peak through the curtain at you. Remember that annoying old man that kept telling you to smile, fuck him, he was so annoying. Then there’s Chelsea, where is Chelsea now?

I’ll never forget booking into hospital and Chelsea was sitting there and my brother said ‘she looks pretty normal, you gonna be fine! And I’ll come visit you all the time, and these two weeks are going to go by so fast, its all going to be fine’. Chelsea smiled and I smiled – that smile where you saying to each other ‘I wonder why you here, but I don’t even care, because I know we here together and I know we going to get through this and I know both of us are trying so hard to pretend we normal and this isn’t the weirdest situation we have ever been in.’ We became friends. She had awful depression, which is strange because she was so pretty. And thats what people think, you so pretty how can you be sad. Well thats discrimination against ugly people.

So you have these thoughts and you think about all your friends and you wonder, why are some of us as deep as a well and some of us have the emotional range of a teaspoon? So you lay crying and you think of the morning that you cut for the first time in six years and you feel so ashamed, and then you wonder; did he see the scars, surely he has seen the scars on your thigh, or maybe he just looks right past them because you just own them and you for the first time in years just decided that you didn’t even care if someone saw the scars. Its just scars, we all have scars, whether they on your skin or your heart, they all there.

But we all so scared all the time, we so scared that someone is going to find out what incredibly flawed individuals we are. We just so anxious and we actually like fucking zombies and we just so ridiculous because we all so consumed with worrying what someone else will think – Well guess what: everyone is freaking out just like you are and if someone doesn’t want to see your flaws then show them to someone else.

So now I lay here on my floor and I paint whilst doing eating disorder therapy and crying and writing – because sometimes you are just so scatter brained that you cant even do one thing, your mind is all over the place so you might as well just do things all over the place and mess paint on the carpet and cry tears into your painting because thats what life is, its being fucking real and raw. Its being a wreck and then the next minute thinking you so lame because life is actually awesome, its all over the place. Life is everywhere and its no where.

Then I repeated this cycle over and over again. Then went to buy some art supplies and made the mistake of buying a mcflurry because I don’t know how to stop the anxiety so you eat it and naturally freak out, and bulimia keeps nudging and says ‘ice cream is so easy to purge’ just do it. So you do it because you know that once you get that release you will release all of that anxiety – and again you find yourself in that familiar place, your hair tied back and eyes blood shot and you have stabbing pains in your chest but you just keep going. The sickest part is that you literally think to yourself ‘ice cream is so easy to purge, have to remember this for next time, so much easier than purging chocolate”, I mean really, how fucked up are you when you think those thoughts? How ashamed are you, why do you have this incredibly unattractive illness? Why cant you just have OCD or something like that, why do you have this ravenous illness that takes over your body. Why are you so fucked up?

YOU NOT! You are not fucked up for thinking those thoughts. You have an illness and thats ok, the mere fact that you have recognised this and are working on it is all that matters. Thats what we all tell each other right? My old instagram account that was dedicated to my recovery, all my followers and me would always comment ‘dont be so hard on yourself, stay strong, keep fighting, you are worthy of recovery’ and so on and so forth. But none of us believe it when it comes to our own hearts and souls. We continue abusing our bodies because A. It’s not as easy as it sounds to just recover; and B. Because its so much easier to take the easy route and listen to your eating disorder than to actually fight it and fight the voice, and challenge it and challenge the fears and the feelings!

But like I always say, there is nothing sexier than personal growth. Absolutely nothing, except maybe a good perfume or cologne or a great shade of red lipstick, other than that personal growth is sexy and its raw and its real.

And we all hypocrites and we all dishing out advice to each other and we all seem wise, well we are all wise, just in different ways, I guess its up to you to decide who you showing this to. Who are you going to be your raw self with and when are you going to be scared and horrified and cry and sob and feel sorry for yourself and just be open and just say ‘I’m a human and I’m flawed and I want to be perfect but I cant be and thats fine and its also not fine at the same time because thats human nature’. We all so freaking flawed and we just trying to be perfect.

Well guess what – everyone always thinks I’m perfect because for some reason I am the most resilient human being on planet earth, I mean really – give me a grenade thats about to kill me and I’ll probably find something creative to do with it. Thats just me. But you, you resilient as well, you just have to show it and stop hiding and stop being scared and stop isolating yourself! And how ironic – here I go, dishing out advice, because we all fucking hypocrites.

Doing eating disorder therapy all night

Author: gettingmyheartbrokengenerally

If you asked what I do in my spare time I'd answer... Getting my heart broken generally. Running a business, navigating into my 30's with incredible family and friends. Where I am now, 4 years after divorce, travel and relationships.

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