I have been out of treatment for
a little over two weeks~ It is going well, don’t get me wrong. Being free and
out of the “prison” is superb! An accomplishment in itself. But it is freaking
hard… I realized this after a random panic attack snuck up on me like a ninja
the other night. Finances, family, boys, loneliness, self doubt, hate, horrible
body dysmorphia flare ups, and a whole lot of life just caught up to me. Which
resulted in me having a long n’ good chat/mental breakdown with my mom- my
biggest support, my best friend, and luckily for me, my courteous roommate.
After meeting with my therapist
on Monday, I have come to the conclusion that the first two weeks…HELL the
first two years out of treatment is going to be like having to endure wearing a
pair of wet underwear. Yep you heard me. Moist undies. You took the plunge into
the freezing cold water of recovery…and now you’re stuck with a drippin’ hiney!
Some just eye the water
hesitantly, testing the waters with their big toe…maybe stick their foot around
in there…and then decide it is just too cold. The water too murky. So they go
back to their sick, but comfortable lives. Others wade in, up to a certain
point (usually around my girls!) until it gets too cold…too scary. They miss
their “safe” lives. So they quickly scurry out, returning to what they know.
The brave ones just plunge in…they feel the heat threatening them. They are
sick of sweating, gagging, and choking on the fumes of the toxic poison that
encases their lungs. Tired of barely existing. The pain of staying the same has
finally become greater than the pain of changing. So they plunge into the
waters of recovery. They swim around for a while and find that it feels really
freakin’ good. They eventually get used to it, the new temp. The new fish.
Their arms and legs begin cooperating, paddling in unison, slowly getting used
to working again.
Many of us finally made the
decision to plunge into recovery. Forget the slow, timid descent into the
waters, we finally just jumped. Underwent huge changes, immense healing, and
painful growth. And are now better because of it. However, once we reach the
island of life outside of our ED’s and a treatment center, we are left with the
aftermath…the big, bad world with all its twists and turns. All its challenges,
joys, problems, and gifts. And it feels like I’m wearing sopping’ wet
underwear. Uncomfortable, clingy, annoying. The fear, self-doubt and anxiousness
rides up my arse and gives me one hell of a wedgie. Setting boundaries, making amends, using my
voice, feeling things I haven’t felt in a long time…or ever. Dealing with life
on life’s terms. While walking around
with a big wet spot on my backside that I swear screams to the world,
“LOOK AT ME LOOK AT ME! I HAVE
AN EATING DISORDER! IM A FAILURE!”
False. Sorry. I won’t hear it.
Yep, this is hard. I am scared. I don’t trust myself, my body, or the nice guy
tryin’ to just get to know me. Heck, I don’t trust anyone most of the time! But
I do trust my H.P. That guy got me through a hell of a lot. And I trust
the council of my team~ The one I left in Arizona (#loveRW) and the one I have
established here. And I trust that this too shall pass. It will be hard. It
will be awkward. Because trying to live normally after a life filled with
instability is like trying to swim upstream. But I think, no, I know, its
gotta be worth it. So, to wrap up, I’d like to quote a bad-ass movie fave of
mine…Finding Nemo,
“Just keep swimming, just keep
swimming! Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming.”
THANKS Dory! J And thank YOU for reading! <3
Much love
WinterGrace
