Failure

I wish that I had the same clarity that I had yesterday.
I don't.
But that's natural, I suppose.
I just get frustrated with this whole process. I wish I could say, "okay, I'm recovered" and POOF! my body is back to normal.
It's hard to keep going when you don't see any progress. I'm on a weight loss meal plan? Umm... I wouldn't have thought that. The numbers all make sense. It should work.
What's hard is that I know what would work. I know what did work. Less than 200 calories. and then run for miles. everyday. it works. the efforts i put in back then... they worked.

it's sad that i can miss that. miss blacking out. miss being dizzy. miss having my stomach constantly growling at me. miss being painfully exhusted. miss being shakey and foggy and yet somehow always alert and on top of things. miss having bruises all over from having no padding on my body. miss counting my ribs-- seeing each one. miss needing clothes from the girls department. miss having my hair fall out and have lanugo grow all over.
great fun that was. a real blast.
hardly. but somehow I thrived on that. i got kick ass grades that semester and dealt with that stupid david fiasco and I somehow did it all on not eating.
i lived on air, water, and caffeine. and it was such a rush.
i got smaller and smaller, and it drove me to keep going.
feeling empty felt safe. feeling full was foreign to me. i hated it. if i was full, then i wanted it out. i was painfully aware of every calorie each bite contained, and i had to be. or else i didn't feel safe.

i was asked if i was happy back then. and really- i honestly was. i felt comfortable and secure. i felt okay in my body. i knew i was thin- i just didn't think i was thin enough. life was predictable. i knew that when i woke up, i'd feel hungry. i knew that i'd make coffee and drink that and leave for school. i knew that i'd be hungry in class. and that after class i'd go to the gym to run. i knew that i'd be dizzy. i knew that i'd have to hide the fact i wasn't eating. i knew that i'd be tired. i knew that i had things to study and papers to write. i knew that i'd go to bed and be hungry. and i knew that if i did everything right, then the scale would tell me a smaller number than the day before.
it all made sense.


now?
i don't know.

i guess i'm healthier and stronger. my mind isn't foggy.
but this isn't predictable. i don't feel right in my body anymore. i want to claw at my own skin and escape.

it's the whole recovery process... the refeeding and stomach problems. the body image problems. the fact that my body doesn't respond like it should to a meal plan.

time.
i know it takes time.

i know that i can't say "oops, i have osteopenia and fractures from that? sorry, my bad!" and have it simply disappear because i want it to.



i'm just getting tired of not seeing my work pay off at the end of the day.
i know i'm stronger and healthier, but in the ED world- strength and health were always negative things.
being healthy meant not being thin. recovery meant failing. strength was being able to live on air and water and still run 10 miles. perseverence was getting four 4.0s and a 3.9 while starving.

and those thoughts haven't completely disappeared yet.


i still feel like a failure for doing so well in recovery.