Progress

I'm still sick. I'm tired of writing about it. I'm sure everyone who reads my blog regularly is tired of reading about it. I am, at least, making progress. The only symptom that remains is the dizziness, which was, of course, the real problem all along. It is becoming less intense, but it's still there. I have a few more days of antibiotic left. I'm just praying that once it's all gone the dizziness will be gone too.

I have been battling my eating disorder pretty hard since last night. My boyfriend and I ate a late lunch yesterday though I ate a lot less than he did. Once it was time for dinner, he wasn't hungry at all and I was only slightly hungry. He made a comment about how full he was and that he didn't want a big dinner. He said maybe he would only have a banana. He was kidding and he said it without really thinking. He thought it would be funny, but it really wasn't. He wasn't trying to be inconsiderate. Regardless, it gave my eating disorder the idea that it would be okay if I didn't eat dinner. So I kept saying that I wasn't hungry and that neither of us had to eat anything. We ate a late lunch. Let's just go take a nap. Let's just go to bed early. I'm not hungry. I'll eat a big breakfast in the morning. Let's just not have dinner. I'm not hungry. Maybe I'll just have some soda. I'm tired. I'm going to go to sleep.

Finally he told me I was rambling like a crazy person and that of course we were eating dinner. By then I was totally exhausted. It's so draining. I don't think he understands. I was surprised, and I think he was too, at just how easily those anorexic thoughts pop up in me even after all of my time in recovery. We ended up eating dinner, but I know that without him I wouldn't have. He is so crucial to this process. As thankful as I am, that scares me. I can't depend on him to make me eat. I have to learn how to depend on myself to do the right thing too.

As for today, I ate a healthy amount of food, but I had all sorts of negative thoughts about my body. I wore a tank top and every time I passed a mirror my arms looked so huge and fat and disgusting. Each time I had those negative thoughts I was bummed out for thinking so poorly of myself, but it didn't stop them from coming. I immediately started scheming up diet plans and unrealistic exercise goals to help me lose weight. Lose weight? I hadn't done that in a long time. Suddenly the idea of it seemed so fresh and real and attainable. Like it used to. I know that it's a stupid idea. I know that my arms aren't fat. But even if they were, why should it mean so much to me?

I have to keep reminding myself that I am beautiful the way that I am. I am worthy. I used to be broken, but I'm not broken anymore. I'm in repair and I am worth fixing. I am in recovery and I am worth recovering.