Recovery and Illness
“I think there’s so much emphasis on body image and results and outcome, but really what you should be after is to be healthy and to feel good about yourself.” ~ Abby Wambach
It might seem like an oxymoron, for years I could have considered it my job, forcing myself to vomit eight, ten times a day. The littlest thing like coffee I would throw back up. Getting that moment’s peace that I controlled. I craved when in my world there was nothing I COULD control. It would soon dissipate leaving me in a world of self loathing like before.
Weight issues, bulimia, addicted to exercise, distorted eating, the list of body image problems is endless. Yet I over came it. Slowly but surely. Rehab, therapy. Finding a new form of control and outlook on life. Actually dealing with my issues.
Which is why the few times I have gotten sick since my initial recovery has struck a fear in me that I have known only a few times in my life. It is a feeling that even horror movies can’t touch on.
It touches the very stability of my inner being.
Will this throw me back over that dark empty chasm? Will I relapse?
That moment I lean over the porcelain throne, isn’t a moment of control or choice. Not this time. That has been taken from me whether because of food poisoning or stomach flu, and in that moment I feel out of control. Just as broken as I was when I was in the middle of my eating disorder.
I try fighting with my body. Fighting what I can’t control, because in this instance, I can’t control it. I am not sticking a finger down my throat. I am not counting the minutes until I can get up and go to the bathroom to give me for a moment sanity like I use too. It is an uncontrollable response, one due to internal toxicity rather then mental.
There was a time when it brought me great peace and clarity and relieved me of mental anguish and hurt.
Now I fear that.
Now that moment of blankness is utter fear.
Their is a difference. Rationally I know it. But being in that moment, I can’t think rationally. I feel defeated. I wonder why the hell I ever did this. Why?
I know why. Hundreds of hours of therapy I should better now why. It was my coping mechinism in dealing with my life spiraling out of control.
This is just my body rejecting me.
In some ways it seems the same to me.
I was rejecting my body all those years ago.
This time my body is rejecting food.
I keep differentiating between the two.
Life is about intention. The intention of actions. How things are said or done and what is behind them. Really behind them.
As much as this scares me that I am going to be thrown back into that suicidal vortex which gave an illusion of control, but in reality was me spinning so fast it is a miracle I am here today, I know I won’t.
Because that IS NOT who I am.
This will pass. Even if I am drowning in fear, it will pass. My body will right itself because we are connected. We are much stronger then any bug or symptom.
As I spent the night on my cold bathroom floor, I couldn’t help but laugh. How the hell did I do this?
I have no idea.
But I do know, I won’t do it again.
I will be all right. It might take away. Recovering from anything always does.
But I will be alright.