holy fucking shit.

For the first time since spring I can’t eat, can’t breathe, I’m losing my grip; getting ready for the end of the world. I know it’s happening; I felt it start.

...I’m anxious that I haven’t been eating my meal plan.
...I’m anxious that I am moving 7 hours away to a city I never thought I’d live in.
...I’m anxious about taking on a new job.
...I’m anxious because I ended up in a relationship despite my best efforts.
                I’m anxious that I am really happy.
                I’m worried because I’m in love with him.
...I’m worried that he thinks I’m better and I’m not.
...I'm worried that I think I'm better and I'm not.

...I’m anxious that I can’t stay present.
...I’m stressed because I need to find a place to live, find the money to make this happen, rent a truck, pack my shit, relocate my three cats and stress them out.

I can’t eat. I don’t eat. Is this relapsing? My best guess is yes, this is always how it starts. Who do I tell? How do I say “I’m not well, I’m not better anymore?”

I turned off the TV that I rarely watch anyway because of a commercial with plastic food in it. I’ve barely eaten today but what little I have threatened to come back up. My body image has been pretty positive, especially lately, so this is not supposed to happen, right?

Why is it that my reaction to very stressful situations is to stop eating? To stop doing one of the few things that I need in order to sustain my life, to nurture not only my body, but my mind as well. 

And of course, whenever Ed comes knocking, old habits rear their ugly heads. Restricting and binging doesn’t apply only to my nutritional habits in this sense. I ordered a new coat today.  The coat is perfect for what I predict is coming: Binging, restricting, more binging and weight gain. It’s sort of homeless-looking; truly, I look like a bag lady in it and it’s glorious. 

I left work an hour early. I’m nauseated, I’m sore, I’m short of breath, I’m beat down.

I’m finally ready to admit that I am not better, I still need support. I still need counseling and people who get it. I need my people to not act like this doesn’t exist; like it was just a phase. It wasn’t, isn’t, will never be just a phase I went through. I was getting better, so much better; I had started to believe maybe it was just something that wasn’t really serious. Is this how it works? Did Ed trick me into thinking I was cured so he could manipulate me again?

Of course, it’s Friday night and I can’t call to make an appointment at The Center. Will I be feeling like I’ve hit the bottom on Monday and make the call? Or will I tell myself that I caught myself just in time, just before I hit the bottom- grasping a ledge and telling myself that I can climb back up and do it on my own?

Deuces, Ohio!

I’m trying to figure out how my parents have not asked me about my recovery for months. Like, I’m relatively convinced that my parents never believed that I am actually sick. They don’t think I’m really not well; despite attending family night at The Center and attending a family counseling session with my counselor.

In regards to support, my biggest fan Lovie left for Texas two months ago and I’ve been doing surprisingly well. I spent a week or two (or maybe three) in full panic mode because I was still here. After a bit, I stopped actively looking for jobs outside of Ohio. I decided to chill out, accept where I am and stay through the end of the year and then resume my search.

I didn’t think I was running. No matter what Lovie said, I swore I was ready. And it really felt like I was ready, until a month or so ago I knew I was ready. I thought I didn’t give a fuck what people thought before, but then I realized the other day- fuck them! This is my home, too. I refuse to let the chance that I see someone I don’t know keep me from living in it.)

It’s funny how things start to come together when you relax, let go and just be. I have been feeling really content; my pieces are falling into place. I have a great apartment, a job that I don’t love but is pretty fun, easy and pays well, and three awesome cats. (Ok ok, I have way more than that- family that is close, so many amazing, amazing friends to take care of me when I need it.)

So I unpacked the boxes I had packed in my hurry to make some major changes happen. I reorganized my closet, cleaned up the mess my apartment had become, allowed myself to get closer to friends I had started to cut off. I even continued to see Friend and learn that I can meet someone who I genuinely like and want to see on a regular basis. And, to my shock and horror and despite everything I’ve learned and every self-sabotage I tried-I’ve gotten quite attached to him. So attached, in fact, that I think we may become roommates soon; roommates who sleep together, of course, but just roommates.

And I’ve just gotten unpacked, re-settled, content and present when a job opportunity was presented to me. I think the reason I am sure it’s the right choice is because I really thought hard- hesitated, even- before I got excited about the city it was in, the job and the perks of the job. I interviewed and completely dropped the bomb; just something about it instantly felt like I fucked it up. I spent a week feeling that familiar failure, another opportunity that I really thought would be great gone. But I was wrong! Today, I went in for my second interview and nailed it; I will be getting a job offer in the next few days. I can’t wait to get to know my new city and continue my path to getting where I ultimately belong in my industry.

I have to move by November 1, so I guess it’s a good thing I hadn’t had time to get rid of the boxes I unpacked, since I’m going to be loading everything right back up!