First off, sorry if this is triggering for any of y’all. Take a deep breath before reading this one.
Recently, whenever I’m changing clothes, I keep noticing the size tags – and reading them in disbelief. My clothes tags say XS but I still don’t feel skinny enough (“Hey, that’s Target for ya” my ED protests.) I want recovery but I don’t. I want freedom, to prove that I can recover and do it my way, but I still want to be skinny. Because that’s where I’m stuck. Feeling that skinny is the only thing that’s acceptable. That with skinny will come happy, with skinny will come beautiful, with skinny will come self-satisfied and capable and role model ship. With skinny will come, finally, approval. Approval of myself. Approval from myself.
And then I see Tanya (name changed), our newest admit. She’s 49 years old. She’s skinny, but not drop dead gorgeous. She’s neurotic and obsessive and slightly out of it. She’s not who I want to be. But she’s who I’d become, if I kept doing this. If I didn’t die young, that is.
I don’t want to become Tanya. I want more than that in life. I want more than the neurosis, more than the life of being trapped, more than the being completely helpless, when it comes to my eating disorder. Tanya’s eating disorder doesn’t look glamorous on her. It looks sad. And that sad is not how I want my life to be. I want more. Even if it means that I am more. Because compared to the alternative, it’s worth it.
I am changing.