K** wouldn’t want her to death to be a reason for derailing my recovery. She would have wanted me to nourish my body and grieve at the same time.
But it’s so hard.
This is so, so, hard.
I don’t feel hungry. I don’t feel like I’m supposed to eat. I feel guilty for even having the opportunity to eat, when she should be here, eating meals with her family. It feels wrong to even think about food and going against the ever-present nausea that exists inside this grief.
And all I want to do is text or call her, and get her support. She would tell me to do what I can. She would breathe with me. She would tell me to be gentle with myself and offer myself grace through this very difficult time. She would ask me to put my eating disorder on the shelf, where I could return to it later if needed but to put it away for a bit so I could give my body the energy it needs. Or, she would say, it’s ok to grab onto the log, as in Eating By The Light of The Moon, which represents temporarily surviving with my eating disorder, as long as I let go and swim to shore as soon as possible.
God, I miss her.
This is unbelievably hard.