I’ve been triggered. My bulimic behaviours are regressing.
This is both good and bad.
Bad, because I’ve fallen deep into the well of binging and purging, and even slipped into self-harm hell.
Good, because the trigger has been the anticipation of me commencing a course I have a really good feeling about.
I sometimes feel the ED is a solid, tangible, physical, separate part of me.
And when I come across another piece of the recovery puzzle – something I believe is actually going to progress me a little further away from illness and propel me closer to wellness – my ED panics. It flexes its’ muscles and says, “Look at me! I’m stronger than you! I’m not leaving!”
My anxiety levels this past week have felt really high. My hands shaky, my heart racy, my thoughts panicky. I have drifted back to wondering when will it all end – how beautiful it would be to not exist. I have no plans, and no plans to make plans. I am safe. I promise. But eating disordered thinking is insidious, and it would rather see me dead than well.
I frequently feel I’ve made no progress with my bulimia recovery. I stay the same, or get worse. But I am starting to wonder if there has been one small, but highly significant, improvement. I can hear the voice of reason. It is not strong. It is not confident. But it is now talking, and ever so gently, challenging the ED voice.
I have been triggered this week, but perhaps this will be the last party for my eating disorder. Perhaps – with a little bit of hope, prayer, and magic pixie dust – the voice of recovery will emerge stronger and more powerful. Perhaps this is the beginning of recovery.