PLEASE, read this post over at Now is Now… it is hands down one of the BEST posts I have read: 

I did this mind exercise when your feeling overwhlemed, you get like 15 minutes to write out(type out in my case) any and everything on your mind. I was exhausted afterwards but I thought I would share it:

My mental tally- be it on food, weight, possible meals, time, allotment of time, my job, my life, planned events- my mental tally is always running. Something is always going on up there like a nonstop train. Not just a train, make it a metro. It zooms, at a ridiculous rate, it always needs occupying. What I am trying to keep it occupied with to avoid I have no idea. The total allotment of shit going through my head is never enough; the tally is never high enough. When I am actively doing things, social events, making food, entering spreadsheets for work I weigh in everything. Am I supposed to be enjoying to moment, being amused, and usually there’s debate up there regarding how I could be using my time elsewhere. It’s always the next step, the future and not realizing the moment I am living in. Its all gotta be planned out, it’s all about contingency- it is SO sick.

It’s all about perfection too. Ungodly perfect perfection. Everything in my power that I can make perfect, that can be perfect must be thoroughly thought out to perfection and re-tallied-considered over and over again. If food is not going to be enjoyable, going to taste different than I expect, and not what I think I want or need- just don’t eat. If it isn’t perfect I just wont eat. If making plans with people and getting out socially will not be absolutely mind blowing and stimulating, then I don’t do it. I back out of things a lot. I make excuses on why I need to stay to myself and ritualize every minute detail of every fucking second of my life. Stay in, read up on stupid-stuff-that-ultimately-makes no sense whatsoever, or read and dwell on recoverees at normal weights who you idol but at the same time have this twisted view that life is no better there then here, in the ultimate never ending circle of control and sanity- but how uncanny and insane it is. I feel like I keep sane, but I am absolutely mentally insane in the disease.

If there are any parts of my day I can possibly omit, to be more controlling and productive elsewhere then I rationalize with myself, nonstop, about the what-ifs of everything possible to do, to eat, to achieve. Something is missing, something is just incomplete and I stretch my bearability on life as far as I possibly can. It it’s a struggle, it’s a complete struggle and I make it the worst but most exhilarating struggle I can possibly handle. There is this block of non-compromise- there is no flexibility and half-assing.

There has got to be more than this. I feel fat. I haven’t gained 50 lbs I have gained a few, but from my feeling in this body you’d think I had put on a million over nights and my clothes are protruding from my waist line. Which by the way, the waist like feels non existent and my belly feels about ready to explode every waking minute of the day, and even in bed. I know the bigger picture, this will pass, and I am meant to be more, and eat more than I do without such ill effects. God’s plan for me may involve this beautifully potent struggle, but my biggest fear ever is still becoming a typical story of anorexic-turned-binge eater or bulimic. Well scratch that I could never be bulimic, that disease scares the shit out of me and I hate barfing.

I keep enough control on myself and food that I don’t allow those nourishing, floodgates of food eating to open. No way, that’s scary shit. What if I lose my self restraint? My control? What if my appetite becomes unbearably uncontrollable and unstoppable? What if I can’t stop eating. I never never ever want to become that. I see people like that, in my office, everyday. They eat at their desk all day. Morning starts with a coke, then coffee and cream/sugar, then breakfast of micro-whatever, the snacking on trail mix, nuts, chocolate, the bowl of candy, chips, crackers, food food food ALL DAY LONG. I find that gross. Appalling even- and yes I am ashamed to admit that. This fear of losing self control is keeping me locked, entrapped in the ability to be recovering and the ability to GET THE FUCK OVER with recovery. I know it is true I enjoy food than any other normal functioning individual. You wouldn’t think so, as I sometimes demolish my food, but deep down I LOVE food and everything about it. I love savoring it, but I have a habit of staying totally occupied while eating and doing it ever so slowly so as to enjoy it, but make it last a long time. That’s sick. Just eat and get the hell on with life- grrr… I hate that I enjoy eating. It is agonizing!

I cannot STAND this in between shit. Seeing the scale inch up everyday, seeing my waist expand everyday while my arms remain these limbs of muscle, the slow process of feeling my clothes get tighter, my face get fuller. I HATE THIS. I hate the obsession with numbers, I have safe ones and I have ones I hate seeing. There is no rhyme or reason to it. Some higher numbers are more mind easing than lower ones. I have no idea what makes the number safe or not but for some reason it happens.

What else have I picked up on and learned…I have got to got to break this habit of waiting until I am absolutely ‘empty’ to eat. I make myself wait until I am famished and my appetite is like a horse even though a small amount of food will fill me up. Again, maybe this links to the sick desire to love and adore and savor food in itself. It makes the eating process like incredibly intense. Geez, I am weirder than I thought…then there is the ‘perfect meal’ or perfect food. When I finally get empty and have to eat, then I will ONLY eat if I deem the meal to be worth it, worth the time, the taste, the calmness centered around it, how long it will take to eat, how I will feel after, the timing, the place, the people. If it all aint perfect, ill just wait. I will keep to myself until I can have isolation where I can enjoy ‘my food in peace.’ THIS HAS GOT TO STOP. But it is such a fucking distraction to feel your waistline expanding every time you move, every outfit you put on, even lying in bed you feel you belly touch in places it never has. You feel you thighs touch and things I could once wrap my hand around for comfort and control I can no longer do. I get scared for today and its food. I fear tomorrow and having to eat then to. I hate living everyday with the aftermath of food. It’s the worst feeling ever. And when I have to eat so often, in unplanned atmospheres and consume unplanned food, the aftermath of that is enough to send Cooter Brown to an AA meeting. Its physically uncomfortable, it’s ungodly emotional, and once the meal is over or the food is gone, that’s it. Nothing to cherish. Ya know, I don’t even know why we need to enjoy food. The taste is faded away and gone as soon as you swallow.

But I guess this is all part of recovery, of recovering. I want to get on my knees and cry everyday. I sincerely feel ginormous, HUGE. I go to bed full (which I need to desperately work on this night time gung ho motivation to recover vs. the daytime I hate eating nonexistent motivation) not knowing how the next day will go, what I will eat, how much food will be there etc etc. I don’t know- that’s terrifying! Haha and funny to be so damned scared of. The unknown. Thus far it hasn’t killed me but damnit it is fucking hard to try to accept. I am so scared of putting on weight, of this weight I AM putting on. I don’t get the on top of the world high feeling anymore. I’m not gonna lie I miss the peak of an ecstasy-like reaction from malnourishment and starving. I miss it- I want it back. But no way, I made a deal, a pact with myself to recover. If I still want ‘back’ when I get there then the option is always there. My thoughts are so everywhere, up and down, in and out. You know those heart rate monitors at the hospital that do BEEP BEEP BEEP up and down and up and down when peoples hearts are going wacky…..thats what my mind feels like. My thoughts are so distorted and are all over the map.

This starving thing is self-inflicted. Im addicted to the high. I live off that high. Recovery seems so unthinkable but achievable. I have contemplated this time in recovery for a long time, I knew it would come. This time period where I must muster up the strength and acceptance to head toward the finish line. Where I need to challenge myself to see how much I can bear and what my body really can tolerate.

This sucks. This is recovery. Accept it and keep going. Life is a beautiful struggle.

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