Some days being in recovery feels like I am going to battle with myself. I act in a way that triggers the binge/purge cycle, I can see it happening, but it feels as though I am a passive passenger tagging along for the ride, incapable of taking the wheel.
I went two months without giving this illness any thought. I ‘had’ gotten better, gained control, I was healing. Then I had a follow up meeting with my physician, had my pulse, blood pressure and weight checked. I felt proud as I was sure I had started to gain weight, but the scale said otherwise. The scale said I had lost weight. I was stunned, but my physician immediately ensured that this was normal as my metabloism had likely sped up now that I was consuming enough.
I felt defeated, like the scale was calling me a liar. It took a couple of days for me to realize why my old behaviour had returned with a force I could hardly handle.
The healing process is really a process. The high of being accomplished has worn off and now I am facing my actual illness, the illness that creeps in when I let my guard down.
Fuck. This is hard.