Tears flowed extensively yesterday. You would have thought there was a death in the family.

At 8am in the safety of my therapists office it began, in my home at 9pm it ended. I am still processing that I even let that happen.

Body check. Ribs. All day long. My ribs are more visible. I know when I’ve lost weight because of the way my ribs feel. I don’t need a scale. Although the scale validated the truth. When I wake up in the middle of the night, I find myself checking without even realizing it. I am ok if my rib cage feels a certain way.

The tricky part is the rest of my body. The remaining parts of my body seem unchanged, even growing. How is it possible to effortlessly pull on a smaller pair of jeans, but be unable to connect the changing size of the things I can’t stop hating: my thighs, my stomach, my hips.

I know each pound from here on out is more difficult to lose, more noticeable, more detrimental to my health. I know that this threshold I’ve semi-accidentally dipped below is moving in the opposite direction of everything the healthy me is working for.

While working on other things, restriction sort of necessarily happened and here I am. I spent the better part of yesterday trying to convince myself I was (again) exaggerating all of my symptoms and psychological distress. Get yourself together, for Pete’s sake, this is out of control ridiculous. Wait, there is evidence. Is it possible to fake that much tear production? Maybe it’s not made-up and exaggerated. Maybe have some grace for yourself and allow feelings to just happen. No one else is saying you are too much. No one else is saying this is unacceptable. 

I want to hate my eating disorder. I want to feel angry against it. I feel ready to hate it, but I can’t quite get there. Maybe it’s like sadness: it took me a very long time to allow for it to come and now sadness is so present I’m overwhelmed with dealing with it. But, I’m dealing with it, and maybe once I get through that, anger will come. I spent months saying the tears were right there, but I couldn’t let them come. That I knew I was sad, but I couldn’t allow myself to actually feel it. And then finally, I did. The eating disorder part of me is trying to say jump ship, this is way way too much. We sweep emotions under the rug, showing them is not acceptable. But the healthy me realizes the progress in this and I am almost proud, although the healthy me is very tired of fighting the eating disorder and hesitant to keep allowing all this feeling.

The healthy me is clinging to support–so much so that I question my ability to ever get through stuff on my own–to keep going. To get in lunch. It has to be ok right now though, because I am surviving this way. No one is saying using these resources is not okay. No one is saying I am too much. No one is saying you need to do this on your own.

One thing at a time. It’s a process. A tumultuous journey. I’m working on it.

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