Thankful

"Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone..."

Things worked a bit opposite for me. I tried to get rid of everything, and then I figured out how much I had.

When you're down at the bottom of the hole, you truly feel like there's no way out. You're convinced that your despair is eternal, impossible to shake. But it's not.

I wish I could grab hold of all the desperate, hopeless people in the world and let them know just how temporary their situations are. You can't see the forest through the trees, as they say... but that doesn't mean it isn't out there.

I am thankful that I had the opportunity to survive my desperation, make it through my hopelessness. I never could have imagined a life as rich as the one I have now.

Wait, what?

Made an appointment with a new psychologist. My message on her machine went something like this: "Hi, my name is Cassie. My insurance company gave me your number. I'd love it if you called me back. My number is ###-####. Oh, and if you get my answering maching, please don't say why you're calling, because my husband has no idea I'm contacting you."

Firstly, I'm not relapsing, I could just use a steady hand on my shoulder to guide me through my stress.

Secondly, I hope my husband doesn't catch on and think I'm having an affair with a lovely-sounding young woman.

Lastly... why the hell do I always do things to complicate my life?

It's Getting Old

I can't tell you how many times I've wished I could wake up without any memory of my eating disorder. Just awaken, blissfully untethered to negative body image, feelings of inadequacy, insidious compulsions. Fix myself a nice hearty breakfast, put on my favorite sweater, and get on with the day.

You see, even when "in recovery," the eating disorder is still there. Dormant, yes, but ever-present. Much like a city at the base of a volcano, I am always aware of its looming threat. And you know what? I'm getting tired of it. There's no longer any novelty to "feeling fat." There's no emotional rush to eating breakfast - or, worse yet - NOT eating breakfast. There's no haughty sense of power to be had from drinking water while everyone else is eating their lunch.

But the thoughts remain. Hard as I try, I can't resist staring at my body in the mirror after a shower. Pinching, measuring, judging. Hard as I try, I can't stop myself from checking the calorie count of every single thing I put in my mouth. Hard as I try, I can't shake the shadow of that sinister twin, that doppelganger who's been my companion for far too long.

It's getting old.