My choice.

Something I truly haven’t given much thought to, and that blows my mind completely, occurred to me today. The day I got out of treatment I was pushed into the real world on my own. Not entirely, of course, but I no longer have people asking me to rate my depression five times a day or threatening me with an ensure if I don’t complete a meal. I will have therapy starting next week and my parents will undoubtedly be watching me like a hawk, but those things never stopped me before. Recovery is now 100% my choice. It’s a choice I have to make every single day.  The food police aren’t going to come after me if I skip lunch. If I spiral downwards there isn’t much my parents can do. I can go to therapy five times a week but unless I make a conscious effort to work hard against Ed thoughts I am not going anywhere.

Before treatment, this kind of freedom to basically eat/do what I want was just that – freeing. It was a way to let my eating disorder fester. It gave me a false sense of control.

Now, I am scared as hell. I don’t want freedom. I want someone giving me my food and forcing my recovery. Fueling this fear is the fact that I’m really not ready to recover on my own. I still don’t believe I deserve it. This freedom and power are bypassing the healthy part of myself that is there and going straight to Ed.

Recovery is my choice. I want to work through this and get to a point where that will be the only choice I want each day. Until then, I will fight and struggle. Even if I can’t win the war against Ed I want to win some battles. I want to make choices like having a cookie when I haven’t been forced to and following my meal plan. Each of these positive choices will be steps toward recovery, even if it’s a recovery I can’t commit to yet.

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