Two weeks. I’ve got two weeks of treatment left.
I’m feeling ready. I don’t think I’m “cured.” I don’t think that I’ll never be bothered by ED thoughts or urges or compulsions again. No, it’s not that. I’m still fighting those thoughts and urges and compulsions every day. But I think the point is that I’m fighting.
I’ve come a long way. I started this blog while I was happily slowly killing myself, purging the life out of myself until I could barely stand up, overdosing because I couldn’t handle life, restricting because it was the only thing that I could run to to protect myself from my own feelings. It was what gave me worth. It gave me drive. It gave me a purpose while everything else was slowly getting sucked out of me.
That’s not where I am now. I haven’t purged in over two weeks. I’m dedicated, committed to my recovery. I went into treatment telling my treatment team that if I were discharged right then, at the beginning, I’d just go straight back to doing what I had been doing, and worse. I don’t want to go back to my eating disorder now. I mean, yeah, there are times were I “want” to restrict, to purge, to overexercise, but it’s not as strong a “want” as is the actual wanting my life back now. I want to walk the coyote I once worked with again. I want to actually hang out with my friends, instead of having them babysit me while I’m in a mood. I want to move on. I’ve got plans – and they’re not to self-destruct. I’ve got hopes – and they don’t involve a measure for my thighs. I want my life to be bigger than that. I want to be bigger than that.
I’ve got two weeks of treatment left, and I’m ready to keep on taking up arms and fight the fight that ultimately will save myself. I realize that treatment is just one battle – well, when it comes to my eating disorder, I’m ready to keep on waging war.