I’ve Decided to Start Using This Blog Again
I just feel like I sort of have two sides to me now. I’m the Katy that’s obsessed with quirky sitcoms and history, but I also have a past. For the past six months, I’ve been trying as hard as I can to forget about my past. I jumped head first into recovery and I didn’t want to doubt myself by even glancing back. I feel as though I’ve built a safety net around myself, in terms of recovery, and that I can maybe reflect on what life was like when I was in my disorder. I met with my dietitian this morning and it sort of got me thinking about how much my life has changed in a year. A year ago I was in a full blown relapse. I had wanted to relapse so badly that when it happened I opened it with open-arms. I was on so many medications that I was sleeping like 14-15 hours a day. I hadn’t hit rock bottom yet, but I was pretty close. I wasn’t living. I was just existing. This past week I realized just how much of the past three years I missed because of my eating disorder. The other day I was talking with my mom and younger sister about my mom’s best friend, Keva. Keva’s husband used to have annual conferences in Central Florida and the whole family would accompany him, since Keva was my mom’s best friend and our family lived in Central Florida. The last time I remember them visiting was the summer before my senior year, three and a half years ago. My mom and sister, however, were talking about when they came down two summers ago. I played along, as if I remembered, but I don’t. I was so into my eating disorder and so medicated that I don’t remember Keva (who’s practically my aunt) coming to visit. This evening, my mom was talking about my youngest sister’s birthday party two years ago. Once again, I played along as if remembered everything, but I don’t. I don’t even remember my senior year. I was such a nervous wreck that I spent most of it at home, in my bed, and the other part in the IB office, hiding from the real world. Today was the 21st birthday of an old friend from high school. Last night he invited me out to celebrate, and I went. It was so bizarre to see people from high school. People that were a part of my daily life that I haven’t had contact with in over three years. I must admit that my primary motivation in going out last night wasn’t to celebrate Louis’s 21st birthday, but to show my high school buddies that I wasn’t some “fuck up,” as I assume everyone labeled me my senior year. And you know what? I don’t think I did a bang up job of disproving their assumptions. I mean, I was clearly alert (major difference from senior year of high school), but I wasn’t my witty, charismatic, if not dick-like, self that I’m capable of being. I cared so much about what these people thought about me for four years of my life, and now I don’t care at all. We’ve all gone our own ways. Most of my high school friends are science and/or engineering majors. I’m a history major who’s getting certified to teach secondary social studies education. And I don’t care. Because that’s what I want to do do with my life. I used to have such a hard time with endings, mainly because the ends of most things result in uncertainty, and uncertainty makes me anxious. I went through a phase about six months ago when I forced everything to come to an end. IOP. Medications. Bi-weekly therapy sessions. My dietitian, Holly. I quit it all. Looking back, I can say that I was frustrated and as a result, gave up on everything. I was overwhelmed and didn’t know what to do. So I just stopped. And usually stopping your entire world mid-spin is a horrible idea. But for some reason, it worked. But instead of thinking things through, I jumped into a new life. I’m not one who likes to feel pain. I find ways to avoid emotions at all costs. And so I threw myself into this world of “full-recovery.” I started school again. I started babysitting. I started making plans with friends. I think in the beginning of recovery that distraction is key. You can’t question what you’re doing- you just have to get involved in life and distract yourself. However, you can’t ignore it forever. Freud was right about one thing- repression comes back to bite you in the ass. And for the past eight months, I’ve repressed all of my disordered thoughts- trying to convince myself that I didn’t have anything, that everything in my life was perfect. The funny thing is though, I don’t feel like they’ve been building up into some unconquerable beast inside of my head leading the way for relapse. They’ve just lessened. I feel like eating disorder recovery is like all unpleasant things in life in this aspect- eventually the pain becomes so distant that you don’t even realize it’s gone away completely. It’s a gradual process of fading away. Much like the eating disorder itself. Everything comes full circle like that, I suppose. Who knew fashion and mental illness actually had something in common?