I intentionally ate gluten about 6 hours ago. Nothing bad has happened yet. I guess we’ll really see tomorrow. I ate 1/2 of a poppyseed muffin—the huge ones from Costco—that I told myself I could never have in the throes of my eating disorder and then told myself I couldn’t have after February 14, 2019 when M told me to never eat gluten again, based on my labs.

The last time we met I asked you to make a note or something about wanting to discuss gluten the following Wednesday. I’d wanted to bring it up then but we ran out of time and I hadn’t felt brave enough early enough in those 90-minutes.

Deep down I know that the gluten thing is the eating disorder. It was the scariest part to address and I was finally ready. But I also felt unsure, after all, a medical professional did tell me to not eat it.

The thing is, all this work we’ve been doing—it’s shown me a lot of my symptoms are trauma based and trauma induced. And it’s possible that I can digest foods now that I couldn’t as well earlier on in recovery.

I really needed your help. I needed your encouragement. I needed your dietitian expertise. I needed your kind and thoughtful guidance.

I ate it without your here-on-earth support today. I plunged right in and then depression flooded my system. It sent me to bed at 2pm and I wished I could have texted you for reassurance. When the realness of not being able to sunk in, the eating disorder part of me ran rampant in my head. I panicked it was the wrong choice and that if I kept on this path I’d gain so much weight and ultimately fail at everything in life after a domino effect of terribleness.

I said “fuck it” today as I ate the muffin I’d wanted for years, and I hoped you were watching beaming with pride. But I just couldn’t hold on to that feeling of you’re with me in spirit. Instead I felt smacked in the face with reality.

You are gone.

And my heart is hurting so much.

And as much as I want to keep going and keep being a recovery rockstar, my brain wants to lie down in depression and give up.

You’d tell me you’d ride this wave with me. You’d tell me to just keep showing up. You’d tell me you are so proud of my willingness to bring eating disorder lies out into the open. You’d tell me I’m a warrior and you’re honored to do this with me.

We talked so much about needing physical presence and this test of losing your physical presence is just…it is too hard.

It’s awful that you’re gone. It’s devastating to my nervous system. We’d spent so much time learning to trust and lean in to the physical help and support to create safety and calm, and never imagined a life in which I’d lose your physical support permanently and quite honestly, it feels like I’ve been bracing for impact of another trauma over the last two weeks. My body just doesn’t know what to make of it. My heart is broken, my armor is cracked, the wolf pack is not a pack anymore. I feel abandoned.




3 thoughts on “Dear K (letter #2)

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