My best friend has a blog, and on this blog she posts daily victories. This is her victory for today.
Friday, August 1, 2014
Victory: Realized that I’m starting to think less about going back and more about moving forward.
Yesterday, after we began to work on our recovery boards and prepared and ate our dinner, we went on a trail walk on one of the many beautiful trails in my city. A typical evening for the two of us. Our conversation topics ranged from, “Serious question. What should I do with my hair?” to, “I can’t decide between nurse practioner or wild life biologist.” to, “Keep walking, Lex. Keep walking.” (Sarah’s become just as hypervigilant about dead things as I am, but it’s because she knows how afraid of them I am and wants to shield me. True friend material right there.). Our conversation was not dominated by talk of treatment or eating disorders, and while those topics did arise at times, it presented itself in a very recovery-oriented, hopeful manner. This is very different from our friendship only one short year ago.
When I read her victory this morning, my heart leapt for joy. I was so pleased to read it because finally, after all those years of holding onto hope for her, she had found it in herself. But…it also made me stop and think.
I am starting to think less and less about going back and more about moving on with my life. I’ve been spending less time pining for what was and more time thinking practically about what will be. Less time thinking about the most convenient time to relapse and the deductible on my new insurance plan and more on potential job opportunities for the year after I graduate. Less time staring in the mirror, and more time in the world.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve had goals for my far distant future. Goals that I never thought were attainable because I had to be healthy in order to acheive them. Now, those goals aren’t just lofty, unattainable dreams. They are distinct realities. I am going to graduate from college in a year and a half. Grad school isn’t that far off.
Only a year ago, I sent my dietitian an email in which I said, “I think it’s finally hitting me that this could be my last relapse…and I don’t care.” I meant that I believed that I was finally going to allow my eating disorder kill me. I had lost hope of ever getting better. I think I was right though. I do think that was my last relapse, but for entirely different reasons.
I spent so long waging war against my body. I created chaos everywhere I went because I was afraid of what it meant to be stable, what it meant to be okay. It was exhausting. I decided, after a very long time, that it was time to lay down my weapons of self-destruction, stop creating chaos, and give myself permission to be okay.
I’ve worked incredibly hard to get to where I am today, and while I never thought I would ever get here, I’m glad I have. I’m not better yet, but I’m getting there. I’m getting there. The idea of going back is there, but the pull towards life is so much stronger.
I am allowed to be okay. I am allowed to get better. I am allowed to move on. (And I’m so glad I don’t have to do it alone.)