Togetherwer

Coffee.  My life, my reason to live, my soul.  Okay, so you may think that I am overdoing it, but coffee has become a cornerstone of my eating disorder but also in a way my recovery.  Over the past few years, I’ve gotten in the habit  ritual of replacing coffee with food.  It’s bad because I would be running on fake fuel, or caffeine, just to get through the days.  But its also been something that’s kept me strong during so many hard times in my recovery.  I would always have coffee during my sessions.  And if the topic got really tough, I would hold the cup to my chest to know that everything would be okay.  (that was a lifesaver in family therapy, let me tell you…..) But now I’m at a tough point.  My use of coffee instead of food (with a few other things) ultimately landed me in the hospital a few weeks ago.  I can’t keep replacing coffee with food.  I went through withdrawal as I got off the coffee, but now I am craving it like crazy.  It’s already a tough time of year (December and January are always two of the hardest months on my end) so I don’t want to slip back into the ritual of over-consuming. I’m really scared of relapsing, and so I’ve been trying to be very careful.  Plus, it’s one of the hardest aspects of my ED because it is both positive and negative at the same time.  I just really want coffee.  Ugh, rant done.

I was thinking a lot about this message the past two days.  Yesterday I left for school without my coffee (I’m currently working on not using coffee instead of food).  I hadn’t had much to drink in general.  I had nothing to drink.  As I was headed to pick up a friend on my way, I kept thinking about that whole concept: “Every day I have to make the conscious effort to put recovery first.”  A couple of weeks ago I collapsed and was too weak to move my body.  I was rushed to the hospital, put on an IV, and learned from the doctors just how dehydrated and exhausted I truly was.  Drinking has always been a huge challenge of mine.  Since 2006, when my disorder began, I always found myself restricting my liquids.  It just makes sense….that is in the whole distorted mindset perspective.  So as I was driving yesterday, I kept thinking, “Oh, well that was weeks ago. It would  be okay if I didn’t have anything to drink today, right?  Nothing bad will happen…”

My disorder tried to weasel his way into my life here, but I chose to fight him.  What I learned from the hospital is that I can’t take a day off.  I can’t just choose what days I want to recover and what days will be taken over by my ED.  So I stopped at Wawa and bought a water bottle that I took with me for the day.  It took me the entire school day to finish, but I did it!  

Then today, I had the hustle from school to work.  Back when my disorder controlled my life, I never brought dinner to work.  I would just wait through the hours and hope to God my stomach didn’t grumble.  But over the past couple of months, I’ve been making conscious efforts to pack something for me.  At first it was my safest of safe foods: crackers.  Then it was something bigger.  Until today, when I brought a lentil and bean microwaveable soup.  Sure, it’s nothing fancy.  But man, that is PROTEIN in a BOWL!  Protein has been hard as hell to handle too.  I didn’t become vegetarian freshman year for animals or health reasons if you know what I mean.  Since meeting with my nutritionist, I’ve been making conscious efforts to eat protein and make sure I am truly taking care of myself.

So going back to the whole concept of “Every day I have to make the conscious effort to put recovery first,” that couldn’t be more true.  I need to put my health first.  My happiness.  My well-being.  Sure, Ed makes it seem as though I am nothing without him.  But I am fighting like hell to claim back the life he took from me.  I’ve lived with Ed, and let me tell you, he’s a monster.  So this one is for me. For my happiness.  For my freedom. For my recovery.

During my last therapy session, my therapist and I talked about a few ED symptoms of mine that have started to creep up and the present, but non-active urge to self-harm.   She underlined my ability to use the coping skills we’ve talked about (well, the skills we’ve beaten to death with how many times we talk about them) over the past nearly 26 months I’ve been working with her.  During the sessions, I can always see exactly what I need to do and how I can get through various situations; however, in that moment, I feel like I don’t know what to do.

I think one the hardest parts of recovery for me is right now.  I need to take what I’ve learned, apply it to my life, and trust that everything will be okay.  Sometimes I’m afraid of doing well.  I mean, what if I was to relapse after being in a really good place?  Or feel unworthy of good things?  Or slip back into my depression…….and the excuses go on and on and on.  But I have to take initiative in my own life.  I can’t let my life be ruined by this disease any more.  So why is it so hard? 

I don’t want to say I’ve become dependent on therapy; I know for a fact I’m not.  Maybe it’s the uncertainty and hesitancy I have in making solid choices for myself and knowing that they are okay, even if they turn out to be a mistake.  Maybe I’m having a hard time letting go of the fear of being wrong (which is something I thought I had worked with through yoga, but apparently I still have room to grow).  I find it hard to take ownership of my life at times.  I’ve been told by so many, family/society/religion/friends, how to live my life.  So any step towards making choices for myself is HUGE.  My newly dyed hair: all mine.  My recovery tattoo: for me.  These are some things I have done.

So back to applying recovery to my life.  Yes, I am technically doing what I should (most of the time).  I am eating, not pushing myself, staying positive, and not cutting.  So why am I stuck in the circle of relapse and recovery?  I’m starting to think it’s because I haven’t let myself (a) grieved the fact that I’ve suffered with so much at such a young age, (b) acknowledged how far I have come and given myself credit for all the hard work I put in, and (c) risked dedicating myself too much to recovery for fear of relapsing.  

So where do I go from here?  I’m switching from weekly therapy to every other week.  I’m making efforts to eat and stay hydrated.  I’m scared of what will happen these next two months (they always turn out the hardest of the twelve for me), but I’m willing to take the risk.  To chase after recovery with every that I’ve got.  To let myself live a recovered life instead of wanting to live one.  To use the skills I’ve learned in therapy and apply them to my life.  To know that bad things may happen, but good things can happen too.  And to know that through it all, my life, my happiness, and my well-being are worth it.