Intro to Recovery

I really, really hate myself for it, but my first thought was along the lines of "Good. I'm one of the skinniest girls here."

I had my first orientation meeting with the recovery group today.  Just like after my solo meeting last week, I left feeling discouraged.  I go to the Centre feeling so motivated and so ready to change my life, and I leave feeling defeated, or like I've come to the wrong place.

I'm not like those other sick girls though, I eat all the time.  I just need someone to talk to; I don't need to see a dietitian; I can just talk through some stuff with a psychologist and then I'll probably just be all recovered!  Even while I'm thinking these things I know they're not fully true, but these are the "facts" my brain chooses to cling to.

I want to get better, and then I don't.  Mostly, I'm terrified.  I was diagnosed with an eating disorder at age twelve, and had unhealthy food/body issues for god knows how long before that.  At age twenty-one, I really can't remember ever having a life that wasn't governed by Ed's rules.  Recovery would mean a whole new standard of "normal", and I really don't know if I'm ready for that, or ever will be.  I don't know if I want to give up that feeling of control.

In theory, recovery sounds great.  I'd love to be able to not worry about what I eat or how I look or how much I weigh.  I'd love to relax and not be so uptight and worried all the time.  I'd love to be able to mindlessly eat a bag of chips, and then not feel sickened with guilt afterwards.  But right now, all of those things equate to the same thing in my head: fat.

I keep hearing about these girls who manage to beat their eating disorders, and live normal, healthy lives, and they still look amazing.  And I know their stories are meant to inspire me and convince me that recovery is possible, yet I keep writing myself off as a lost cause.  Mighta worked for them, but this is just the way I am.  This is how my life is, and it's probably not going to change.  And I hate these thoughts, I hate myself for having these thoughts.  I want to believe that I can do this, that life after recovery will be so much better.

But right now it's a huge struggle.

Help??

Please Don't Talk About My Body

Please don't comment on my body.

You'll probably forget what you said, within maybe even five minutes.  But your words stay with me, looping through my mind, for days or weeks afterward.  Your flippant remark sticks with me, burrowing into my brain and twisting its meaning until it becomes something else entirely, and I'm left stressed, depressed, and uncomfortable.  I know other people's words shouldn't affect me so strongly.  I know it is my body, 100% M-I-N-E, and the only opinion of it that should matter is my own.  But that doesn't stop your opinion from causing me grief, long after you've forgotten it.

It doesn't matter whether its a compliment, a worry, or simply a statement; the fact that you noticed something about my body enough to comment makes me uncomfortable.  I'm suddenly uber-aware of whichever body area you just mentioned, and I can't help but obsess over it.

"Must be nice to be so tiny, shopping must be so easy for you!"  "My god, do you even eat?"  "I'm so jealous, you don't even have to worry about your weight!"

Okay.  I get it.  I'm skinny.  I'm well aware of that fact, but really, thanks for bringing it up, again.  I'm also aware (whether you are or not) that I didn't always have this body, and I didn't get it from a healthy lifestyle.  I've been fighting off demons in the forms of an eating disorder since age twelve; this little body has nothing to do with being blessed with a fast metabolism.

For the most part, I have things under control.  I eat a healthy diet, and I maintain a healthy (if somewhat low) weight.  A lot of days, I could even say I like my body.  But every single time you say something about how tiny I am, it starts a stream of anxious, obsessive, unhealthy thoughts.

Have I lost weight again?  Am I too tiny?  Did these pants always fit like this??

On worse days, my thoughts after such a comment are equally toxic, in a different way.  Good.  If I'm skinny enough for her to notice and say something, I'm still small enough.  I have to keep it that way.

In day-to-day, normal, healthy life, these demons stay quiet, hidden in the back alleys of my mind.  But when you carelessly mention my weight, they rage and roar and repeat in my head and drive me crazy.

Even if I didn't have eating disorder issues to deal with, I think I'd be uncomfortable with people talking about my weight.  My body is mine to worry about, and yours is your own issue.  They really shouldn't cross over into each other's territory.  What's it matter to you what size my jeans are?  What it matter to anyone what size ANYONE's jeans are, besides their own?

There are SO MANY other things you could find to compliment, question, or even criticize me about.  Please, choose one of the infinite other options next time.