Some days I get a sort of itch to write out my thoughts. And not just any thought dumping will do. I want to write on real paper, with a nice pen that writes smoothly with just a bit of grip on the paper. Today is one of those days. And unfortunately I am working at the hospital and I can’t just pull out my journal and write my deepest darkest secrets. So instead I am typing some of my thoughts as a weak stand-in for that paper and pen feel I crave so much.
A few weeks ago I had a wonderful deep talk with M. We talked about our relationship, moving forward with it and times when we had misinterpreted the others words and actions. It was exactly what I needed at that point in time. And for the first time I realized his intentions during all the times he nags me about food and exercise and all the other topics I get defensive about. When he begans such litanies I immediately assume he is judging me, thinking I am stupid, and I respond with defensiveness and anger. Which sparks his anger, which fuels mine, and the whole conversation goes up in flames. What came out in the most recent conversation was that he is concerned about it. That he doesn’t ask about my eating solely to berate me, he asks about my eating because he cares and is genuinely worried. While that may seem obvious to him and anyone else, it was an entirely new perspective for me. I was floored. I honestly couldn’t imagine, much less believe, that anyone cared that much about me. And further discussion brought out his fears of raising children in a family where wife/Mom disappears to treatment every year. All this brought about the strongest motivation I’ve ever had for recovery.
That’s not to say, though, that I immediately called my therapist and vowed to never indulge in another eating disorder behavior. I bargained with myself, thinking that I could just keep a little, or not get too thin and keep some of the behaviors that didn’t disrupt life too much. But I am an epic failure at controlling my disorder. My eating is erratic and the purging, well, definitely not controlled. So this past week, I finally broke down and emailed my therapist. I told her that I was still ambivalent about gaining more weight, but I can’t live with the purging and secrets anymore. Tuesday came and went. No response. Wednesday, Thursday, the same. By Friday I was convinced that she never wanted to see me again and while a part of me was sad, another part of me rejoiced that I would not have to face my fears. But this morning, a new email showed up in my inbox. It’s not a no-holds-barred, please come back, response. Of course tone is difficult to determine in email, but it seems rather reserved to me. A suggestion of an initial consultation where would would discuss my readiness to change and determine how to proceed.
I am terrified.
Will she force me to begin gaining the last few pounds immediately? Will she let me keep running (the one thing that I believe has helped me gain this much back on my own)? Will she say “I told you so?”
So many questions. None of which can be answered until I go.