Welcome to Almond Oats, relocated. I hope some of my previous followers have found me, and for those of you who are new, feel free to come out of the woodwork and say hello!
Today I had my second dance class of the semester. And I think I’ve discovered my new minor. I was so disappointed when I realized that Eastern didn’t have an art program, but I think that now, I can settle. I feel my body working in ways that it remembers, my muscles systematically reflecting the motions. An arm catches a ront de jambe perfectly in fourth, and my nerves race into a leap, high from the adrenaline. It is amazing to be back on the floor, with the barre, the corrections, the movement. I didn’t realize until now just how much I missed dance, just how much I love it, and also the extent to which I simply took all those after-school classes for granted. I really could have gone somewhere, done something. I guess I’m making those moments up, lost, but not too late. A dance minor may not be practical, but it is where my heart is. And it really isn’t settling, because I could settle for nothing less.
Of course, with dance and work and school, my appetite increases exponentially. I find it very frustrating that some days, like today, I will be continually hungry throughout the day, and that other days, like yesterday, I will hardly be able to overcome the feeling of full. It seems so up and down. I wish I could always feel the hunger, or the physical need. It would make this recovery business so much easier.
And while I realize that I’m burning more on days with more activity, it still bothers me. The fullness of yesterday is still vivid to me, and it precedes the unknown of another day, another moment, another meal. Will I be okay? Will it be too much? Did I eat too much? Did I eat too fast? Can I get through this? Is it really going to be all right? Did I need that? Was it….too much. All of these questions, simply chasing one another while I sit with my gut in my hands, literally wondering why it can’t just be empty, wondering if I made the right choice.
But I know that my choice, the more difficult one, is the choice that has kept me here, present, and alive for the past ten months. And yes, it’s really been that long. In two more months, I will have lasted a full year out of inpatient treatment, which is more that I can say for the previous four years. I have grown. I am growing. I am different now, and I am better. Not completely, but getting there. And that is more than I could ask for.