Yesterday marked my second month of being completely symptom free since February. Although I did have one bad day, right after the first month, I’ve decided to count that first month because it was a huge stepping stone for me. It deserves to count, and I need to acknowledge that one bad day out of sixty-two shouldn’t negate an entire thirty days…does that make sense?
Even though yesterday marked a positive change in my life, it actually kind of sucked. School was fine, but my thoughts were not. I was so distraught over having a snack before lunch, and for a majority of the afternoon thoughts played in my head like a broken record. Should I eat lunch when I get home if I have a snack? Should I take a nap? What should I eat? Am I really hungry? Is that healthy? I feel so fat. I am so fat. The girls in my dance class are thinner than me, I should cut out sugar from my diet, I really don’t need dessert, I am so full so full so full. After eating lunch, I felt so full and overwhelmed that I thought about purging. And I seriously considered it. But I didn’t do it, I didn’t purge. And I still felt like shit. I felt full, and overwhelmed. I felt unproductive and useless and stressed and extremely ugly (in part due to a massive blemish on my chin!) And it just didn’t seem fair. It really didn’t.
I don’t know what exactly caused me to have such negative feelings yesterday. I’m guessing that psychologically, I kind of miss my eating disorder, and the numbness that came with it. If I’d engaged in my ED yesterday, I wouldn’t have felt those emotions so intensely. In fact, I would’ve been so exhausted from ED and would’ve slept the entire day. Would that have been better? Honestly, no. I know it wouldn’t have been better. I also think that yesterday’s self-loathing stemmed from an inherent believe I have of myself, one that greatly contributed to my eating disorder. My eating disorder first reared it’s head in sixth grade, the year I went to middle school, and the year that all of my elementary school friends essentially ditched me. I remember that being so painful, and I remember from then on being so insecure and afraid that nobody liked me. I turned inward, I became very shy. I inherently believed, and still do believe, that I am destined to be friendless. I cannot remember a time when I felt secure in my friendships. Sure, I had maybe five friends throughout high school, but they were few and far between, and the weren’t the kind of friends that would call me, or that I felt could count on. They would not include me in things outside of school, simply because they didn’t think of me. And that really, really hurt. I was that forgettable.
I messaged a few friends on Facebook the other day, all of which I haven’t spoken to in months, in the hopes that I could resume contact/friendship with them. And when they didn’t respond, it’s been almost a week now, the sixth-grader in me reappeared and I felt, but didn’t really acknowledge, just how much it hurt. I told myself they were busy, that they had other things to do. And then I saw the recent activity on their feeds and realized that they seemingly simply did not/do not care to respond. This may not be their intention, this may not be the case at all. Maybe they do plan to respond, maybe I am wrong and apprehensive and judgmental. In the meantime, however, I just feel the emotions that were so completely numbed by my eating disorder. And it hurts, to feel forgettable. Maintaining friendships is something I have always had trouble with. I’ve just never felt that sureness, that security. It’s always too much effort to put myself out there, and there is no guarantee that anyone will respond. There is no guarantee that it will be worth it in the end. So why try?
Yesterday did turn around when Jay came over. He listened to me, reassured me. He made me feel loved. And I noticed today that one of the friends I messaged actually did get back to me. And it feels so nice. I feel like I maybe I’m not that much of a crazy, emotional mess after all. I can feel already that today has the potential to be better, even though it won’t be perfect. It doesn’t have to be. Life without my eating disorder, while definitely better, will still come with bad days. I can accept this. Or at least I’ll try.