Memory

If I haven't written much lately -- and I haven't -- it's because my life here has taken on something of a repetitive nature. I'm not bored, but even my struggles have a tinge of familiarity to them. Depression, I know you. Bad body image, check. Food struggles, little slips, I remember how it goes. I know this path because in some way I have been here before.
I had a routine before I came into treatment -- a routine of serial, self-inflicted abuse. Wake up, barely in time for daddy to pick me up for work, skipping breakfast entirely. Work itself was routine, taking call after call until the names and details blended together, and I felt numb and useless. After work I'd be drawn irresistably to the grocery store or a restaurant to pick up binge food. Binge followed binge, and then came the inevitable chore of finding a secluded bathroom where I'd purge until my stomach was empty and I was exhausted. I'd go home or to various appointments, then spend the evening secluded in my room while my roommates, who were dating each other, did their own activities, whether that be screaming at each other or flirting while making dinner. I'd go out for dinner and binge and purge more, or buy wine and drink until I fell asleep, only to dream restless dreams that woke me at two in the morning. I would binge and purge in the middle of the night, then sleep to wake up unrefreshed, dreading the cycle's beginning again.
The panicky thoughts of whether to not eat or binge and purge never stopped. Work thoughts, friend thoughts, family thoughts -- all were concurrent with a constant stream of abusive mental dialogue about food, my body, my depression. You suck, you piece of trash, you are a food-whore, disgusting and worthless, a complete failure, your life is meaningless, you should just give up -- over and over, interrupting what little life I had and destroying me from inside.
I dread going back to that, though in truth I still have not left it behind. The mind-chatter from the eating disorder is constant and steady, though some days not as loud. I am no longer so helplessly driven by it, but I fear that the semblance of order my life has taken is merely a byproduct of treatment. My mind is still very disordered, though my body is beginning to heal. I am slipping even here, fiddling with my meal plan, and it seems small but it isn't. Nothing is small when it's driven by an eating disorder mind set.
I am visiting home next weekend, and I am afraid. My new patterns are so shaky and formless. Can they stand up to the memories I will face as I go back to the place I left so sick? Facing home will be a true test of my recovery. So many places and people have a painful and shamelful significance for me. This is the bathroom where I purged so often, this is my therapist's office, this is the path I used to walk in the middle of the night to buy binge food, this is the grocery store I shoplifted food from, that's the restaurant I binged at and this is the one I was too terrified to try ... so many memories. Will the new pattern hold? How strong are the new thoughts, and how strong are the eating disordered ones? Am I brave enough, strong enough, willing enough to try something new? Or will I fall back on the comfort and familiar numbness of my disease?