I've been agitated lately. Restless. I've had that crawling-out-of-my-skin sensation pretty consistently. In response, that old familiar temptation has slunk out from the shadows: "Just lose a little weight, you'll feel better." The voice grew loud enough to set off my alarm bells. I brought my concerns to my therapist, and she posed a fairly basic question. "What feeling does losing weight give you that you aren't getting from another source?" "Euphoria," I replied immediately. Pure, unparalleled elation. What came up for me next was nothing short of an epiphany.
I was addicted to anorexia the way some people are addicted to drugs. Loose clothing, sharp angles and a shrinking number on the scale gave me the same visceral ecstasy that others get from a hit of cocaine or heroin. Nothing I've ever experienced comes close to the rapture of that sensation. The realization that I made when I responded to my therapist was this: If I choose to remain in recovery, I will never experience that euphoria again. Never. Choosing to live my life healthy and free of addiction also means choosing to turn my back on the most pleasurable feeling I have ever had.
The more I considered this - with a mix of horror and stinging sadness - the more it made sense. Why else would I have relapsed so many times, returned to anorexia even in the face of overwhelming evidence of its destruction? "Just one little taste," I'd lie to myself, "just to take the edge off." As anyone who has ever struggled with addiction knows, there's no such thing as one little taste. I wondered for a moment why this realization took so long to materialize (after all, I've been in recovery for over a year), but I understand that as well. I think my brain knew back then that I wouldn't have been able to commit to recovery if I was fully aware of the sacrifice. Only now, having proven to myself that I can be successful, am I able to come to terms with what I have given up.
I asked my therapist if it's okay to feel as sad as I do. If it's appropriate or normal to grieve the loss of something that aggressively tried to kill me. She assured me that it is okay, and encouraged me to say a proper farewell. I need the closure. I need to acknowledge and accept that I will never again know the intoxicating madness that anorexia gave me. I have chosen to change direction, to walk a new path, to embrace an unpredictable future that will bring all sorts of joys and pains. I have chosen to leave behind the disease that took so much from me but also made me the resilient, ambitious, hopeful woman I am now. It's time to say goodbye, to close the door, so that I may turn my attention to the rest of my life.
