My alarm went off at 7 and I didn’t wake up until 9:25. I was supposed to leave at 9. I don’t know why I am oversleeping every day this week. When I was in my eating disorder, I would be lucky if I slept past 6. I was always restless, agitated, and running around doing a million things because doing everything was far better than sitting with my own thoughts. But here I am staying up late with enough energy to talk, watch movies, read, and write. Here I am beginning to feel like a normal human- what a weird and foreign concept to someone in recovery.
I was late so I grabbed a cliff bar, granola bar, and water to eat/drink in the car. I had some coffee with cream and sugar- a new recovery phenomenon for me. At noon I was asked if I would want to go grab pizza. I panicked. I hadn’t had any food- in my disordered mind- that had any nutritional value today. I needed a smoothie, or a salad, a quinoa bowl perhaps, or one of those insta posts of a colorful plate of veggies- #recovery? This of course is a lie that my mind was telling me because all food is processed and used by our bodies. Our bodies are well oiled machines that are a whole lot smarter than the logic our disordered minds try to use to define their functioning. And guess what? Our bodies function better when we allow them to have what they truly want to have. These days even when the panic sets in around certain foods, I try my best to push past. I know that to give into those panicked thoughts would strengthen the muscles I don’t want anything to do with. I want to be toned by authenticity, normalcy, and freedom not from hours in the gym or a million Buddha bowls. I want peace. All I have ever wanted was some peace. In simpler terms, that meant I needed to get the effing pizza.
Pizza and real soda because to get diet soda would be an eating disorder win and I am not in the business of losing. I am competitive by nature. I want to win. I want to beat this disease that, for so many years, has taken over my mind. So, real soda is a must and not just any real soda, but Root Beer. This is a childhood favorite that I never was allowed to have. Now, I have it when I want. Soda is bad for you. This nagging voice, these lying thoughts trickle in forcing me to hesitate when picking out the drink. So is self-punishment and restricting my life, I internally yell back to the voice as I grab the harmless Root Beer. Yes. Another win. Like I said, I am not in the business of losing.
Don’t get me wrong, these decisions to get what I want are hard as hell. I have to aim, fire, and shoot at the eating disorder multiple times throughout the day. The difference now is that the eating disorder doesn’t have a chance. I am pulverizing it. Devouring its very existence. The eating disorder is dying with each passing day because I have been in enough therapy. I know too much about recovery to not fall into recovery. I can’t unlearn all the skills and coping mechanisms that I have been taught. I have, in a way, been brainwashed into recovery. I have no choice, but to choose freedom. For this very fact, I will be eternally grateful to all of the therapists, dieticians, and fellow patients that have helped brainwash me along the way. With the help of a mini army, I have been given the gift of freedom.