just because you lose the battle doesn't mean you've lost the war...

this is pretty raw for me, but i wrote this because eating disorder recovery doesn't mean the eating disordered thoughts simply disappear.
i wrote this in an attempt to show that recovery isn't always daisies and roses...but if you just keep fighting, just keep pushing through, you can make it.
at the end of the day, recovery is possible.

7:01 AM.

Disoriented and exhausted from a fitful night of sleep, I roll over and hit the snooze button on my beeping alarm clock. It will beep again in exactly 9 minutes, precisely 7:10 AM. I have to get out of bed within a minute because I feel best when I can get up at an even integer. I manage to locate my glasses, throw on my robe, and walk downstairs to the bathroom without tumbling down the stairs…it’s a miracle. I go to the bathroom then head straight for the full length mirror. I turn to the side and check my stomach to see if it is protruding more than the day before, or less than the day before. It baffles me to think a body can stay in one place, stable, without constantly fluctuating up and down.
“I can’t believe you ate all of that yesterday. You need to cut back today.”
“No, that is just silly. I know I need to eat in order to thrive and grow and maintain a sense of freedom.”
And so begins the internal dialogue that has gotten increasingly louder over the past few weeks. It is easier to fight in the morning, while I still have all my strength and energy. I go back upstairs and begin to search my closet for something, anything, that I can feel comfortable in. I throw outfit after outfit on the floor, as they each make me look “fat” or “frumpy” or “sloppy.” Who decided what the definition of fat is, anyway? I settle on a sundress that hides all of my perceived “flaws.”

8:30 AM.
I am running late, as usual. I’m not technically late, as I tend to be painfully early everywhere I go, but I am late by my definition.
“No time to eat. Can’t be late. Just grab your stuff and go. You aren’t hungry anyway.”
“But I’m hungry. I’ll just eat something quick.”
“You function better when you are running on empty, though.”
“Do I? I guess you are right. Wait, no. I know I don’t. Or do I? I’m still going to eat, but maybe I will try testing out that theory tomorrow.”
I do not actually test out the theory. Instead, I grab a bowl, walk to the refrigerator and prepare breakfast as quickly as possible. I stand and eat, inhaling bites of food as fast as my body will allow.
I rinse my dishes, wipe down the counter, grab a bottle of water and go. I can’t think of anything but the breakfast I just consumed so I turn the radio up as loud as it will go, only to drown out the chatter in my brain.

12:45 PM.
“Is it seriously time to eat again? I’m not even hungry. Why does everyone think I need to eat three meals a day, anyway? I mean, why eat if I’m not even hungry?”
“Exactly. Why eat if you aren’t hungry? And you aren’t.”
“I have to eat. I know where not eating has gotten me and I can’t go back there. I hate food. I hate that I need food. I hate that I need. I’m so damn needy.”
And so I stop my day on a dime to digest lunch. I do it because I know I have to, not because I want to. Or do I? Why am I so ashamed to admit that I need food and occasionally enjoy it, too? Logically, I know that eating makes me feel stronger and allows me to continue to function and go about my life, but it seems like such a daunting task sometimes. Yet I do it anyway. I eat my exchanges, all of them. When finished, I run my hands along my rib cage, then down to my hips. This habit of body checking disappeared for a while but has reemerged. It depresses me. I know I need to stop.
“You look disgusting.”
“I know. Wait, no I don’t. I look normal. I’m supposed to look like this, like a woman. After all, I am a woman. I don’t want to look like I did a year ago.”
“A year ago? You weren’t even skinny then. You looked good.”
“I can’t even remember what I looked like then.”
It is true. I can’t remember. It is like I have situational amnesia and my memories of that time are fuzzy, blurry, smeared. I remember the concern but I can’t seem to recall why there was cause for so much concern. I feel discontent and torn between yearning for the old body and grasping at a new life.
5:15 PM.
Just got home. I’m exhausted but I can’t let myself sit. I feel too keyed up and restless to just sit.
“You should go to the gym. You need to work out until you can make that cellulite disappear.”
“Cellulite? Are you sure?”
“Look in the mirror.”
“Oh my gosh, you are right. I’m so embarrassed.”
“Put your running shoes on and go…now.”
“I’m just so tired. I don’t have it in me to be so intense.”
“Well, it’s your loss. You are the one who will have to live with the embarrassing cellulite. Probably shouldn’t wear shorts anymore.”
I settle on going to Riverside to walk. I’m too tired to run. I get home and examine my legs in the mirror. I hate the mirror because I can never trust what I see. But then again, I’m not sure I trust others either. So who do I trust? I know there is no cellulite, but the more I think about it, the more I begin to believe there is. Funny how my brain can play tricks on me like that. I thumb through my closet, picking out my potential outfit for the next day. I’m going to wear shorts.

8:00 PM.
I’m getting tired and it is close to bedtime. I need to grab a snack before bed, as it is not only part of my meal plan but helps my blood sugar levels stay relatively stable overnight. Choosing a snack is the grueling part.
“You need to pick the lowest calorie option. You don’t need sugar because it will keep you up at night, and you don’t need salt as it will cause you to bloat. You don’t need bread because it will expand in your stomach and you don’t need any unnecessary fats as they will make you sluggish. And don’t even think about going for the gluten free donuts that you bought but will never consume. You wasted 6.00 on those.”
“So what can I have?”
“An apple.”
“Okay.”
I get the apple, slice it, cube it, and begin to eat it. I’m not satisfied. I walk to the cupboard and get the peanut butter. I spoon out some peanut butter onto the plate and start dipping my apple.
"Are you serious? Peanut butter, of all things. It is pure fat, with a high sugar content and also contains sodium. Are you trying to blow up like a balloon?”
“SHUT UP.”
I continue to dip my apple in the peanut butter.
Today, I win.

10:30 PM.
Bedtime. I sink into the sheets and pull the covers up to my chin. I can’t seem to find a comfortable position so I settle on my back. Staring up at the ceiling, I exhale a long and satisfying breath and think back about the day. Anyone would be exhausted if they had to constantly fight an internal battle. Just because I battled all day doesn’t mean I lost the war. In fact, I go to bed stronger for having fought so hard.
In fact, I won because I talked back.
Tomorrow, I tell myself, will be easier.
Tomorrow will be another day of winning in recovery.
Tomorrow…
I fall asleep.