Caffeinated Confessional #1

Our household was unfortunately struck down by a really nasty virus over the weekend. My birthday weekend of all times. What a lovely gift to be given. A test of health.

We survived.

But something more happened to me. And it may seem silly to some people to think something as simple and common as a winter virus could throw me into such a tale spin but it’s happened.

Not being able to eat much for days, the pain of even trying, the nagging calls for satiation, they were so familiar. So longed for. Comforting.

Something I’ve tried to swear up and down about is never going back to my eating disorder. I’ve thrown out every cliche reason you could think of. I’ve talked an incredibly good game.

I never believed myself.

So when the numbers slowly start to tick in the opposite direction and the silent thrill zaps deep into your bones, it’s not easily ignored.

It’s been four years, entering the fifth, since I defiantly made the decision. Thousands of days, even more hours. Tripping and falling and getting back up yet never quite regaining the same steam.

Then these easy entrance ways open up, and the aroma of that sweet poison washes over me like a cloud. And I’m trapped between two doors. Going back to what is comfortable, disastrous, alluring and exciting. Or staying in this cycle of will I or won’t I, am I or aren’t I, can I or can’t I.

And my body starts to shake, expelling any good sense I’ve got left trapped inside of me. It hovers over me as though I’m in danger of taking my last breath. Choose wisely.

I feel:

I tempted fate.

I tested myself. I tasted that sweet sweet hunger, and its calls were deafening.

I’d be lying if I said I never prayed to fall back on it. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss the anguish, the tremors, the incessant pangs. No, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it, if I didn’t call on it, if I didn’t kneel down and grovel for just a touch of it.

As far away as I may run, it’s still right behind me. As much lightness as I keep near to me, its darkness is never far.

I hear it whisper in the winds. I hear it under every footstep. I feel it coursing through my veins the longer I go without.

And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it.

I feel as though I’m faced with an impossible decision. Sheepishly cower backward into the arms of my deranged former self. Or stand in who I am in this moment. Unsure. Vulnerable. Missing and incomplete yet forward facing.

To anyone who’s never been strangled by their own mind the decision would seem clear. Cut and dry. But when something promised to love you so, never to leave your side, never to abandon you the way anything or anyone else ever has, it feels weighty.

I’m looking over my shoulder longingly. I want to cry out. I want to keep it locked safe inside of me.

It’s always been mine. Mine to keep.

I’m not sure what to do with all of this.

Intellectually, sure, the ‘right’ decision would be to root deeper into recovery. Allow this to teach a lesson about self love, distance and depth, forgiveness, resistance.

No one ever said people who’ve suffered eating disorders always think rationally.

This certainly won’t make sense to most people but it makes perfect sense to me.


3 thoughts on “Caffeinated Confessional #1

  1. This sounds eerily similar in experience to the guided meditation I did late last night. Now, nothing can possibly compare to confronting an eating disorder, so I’m not trying to make that sort of comparison. Though, I’m pretty sure it sounds that way, so I apologize.

    But, it sounds very much like the meeting of my “shadow” and simply being present in my body that this meditation encouraged. And while meeting up with my shadow self was “no big deal”, staying present and in my body was hard as fuck. I usually struggle with meditations that ask you to visualize another place or realm, always fighting my brain’s need to think ten million unrelated thoughts, but, this time, it was all I could do to NOT step outside myself to look critically at myself. I had to force myself to remember that I was in the present and feeling the random pains in my body, feeling it take up space, and so on.

    So, while, no, I don’t fully understand what you mean simply because I am not you and I haven’t had your unique experiences, I think I relate at least a little. And, while I’m sure it was not a fun experience or something fun to think about or consider, it was definitely important.

    I hear you, sister, and I see you. 💜


    • Thank you, Mare. ❤

      My body is such a battleground for me on so many levels. Personally, spiritually, sexually. I don’t know how to heal that. How to be comfortable inside of it. How to not think of it as a separate entity.

      I’ve been considering going back to daily yoga to help reconnect me with my body. To stitch back the outer to the inner and become whole. I think I’ve resisted up til this point because I’m afraid to have to feel my way through it all.


      • I believe it. Returning to yoga would probably be a great first step! Not only is it gentle, but even if it just becomes another part of “daily exercise”, it’s still a benefit.

        I know I can’t offer much in the way of help, but I am behind you 100% no matter what and am always here for you. ❤


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