Memory

Over four months ago I entered treatment once again, having hit a very low bottom. I was desperate and going to treatment seemed like the only way out. My eating disorder had taken complete control, and I was spending my entire paycheck on bingeing and purging or alcohol if I ate at all. There was no money for rent or bills, no time or energy for friends, family or work. I spent my time in obsession, depression and anxiety. My body was tolerating the abuse, but barely. It was in survival mode, and eking out an mere existence was all I could do. It hardly seemed worth it to keep going. I wanted to escape -- and treatment seemed a little more hopeful than death. So I went. Now here in California, it's difficult to remember that time. The physical and temporal distance keep the memories at bay. I am finding that I need to remember that time now, however painful it was. I want to keep it at a distance, I don't want to recall that pain and despair, yet if I do not keep it ever present in my mind, I will forget what is waiting for me should I choose my eating disorder. I chose to restrict a meal today. In my insane thinking I simply want to be a little thinner. I've been struggling with a severe case of bad body image . It feels miserable. I am certain I look exactly like a pregnant manitee. I wanted a little relief, and I knew what was guaranteed to work. I don't eat, I get smaller, presto, chango... except it isn't that simple and it isn't that benign. For me the delusion that being thinner will make everything feel better is life-threatening. This is exactly when I need that memory of what I came from, and I'm having a difficult time crossing the distance between my present and my recent past. I catch myself thinking that it wouldn't hurt to "do a little" of my eating disorder, in whatever form it takes that day (it's sneakily chameleon-like). I forget so easily that this same idea is what has led me into despair, near to death, and of course many bouts in eating disorder treatement. There's an enormous gap between my present urges to act out and the consequences they will inevitably incur. I act as if it doesn't matter what I do now, but it matters immensely to my recovery. Every meal I hold my life in my hands. How could I not remember that? Yet still I forget, still I have this disconnect, and still I struggle to bridge the gap between my present, my past and my future. I don't understand why. I suppose the immediate relief seems so enticing I can fool myself into thinking the consequences are avoidable. My disorder seems friendly and comforting in the face of discomfort and pain, or frankly any emotion at all. I know, I know it's a liar, a life-snatcher, a cruel beast ... and so forth. I have a lot of inappropriate-to-write epithets with which to address it. The point is I cannot, absolutely cannot forget what I came from and how close I am, every day, to going back to that and worse. I cannot forget that the eating disorder lie, a beautiful fantasy though it be, is nothing more that a filthy life-sucking lie.