Mud

I don’t know how to write all this. I’m still dragging my feet slowly. Still feeling stuck in mud.

Actually, it’s more like smothered. That’s how I’m feeling.

I have Gloria in my head, sneeringly telling me what a failure I’ve become. Constantly. In every area of my life. Because I am now a healthy weight. So I’d better restrict, exercise and lose it all before I really am just a fat nothing. How pathetically weak to feel and acknowledge hunger.

I have Tony outside my head. He’s being so supportive and protective it’s just as smothering right now. I know he’s trying to look after me, help me recover. But I feel so helpless. Dependent. Worthless. Labelled. That what I think and feel and believe don’t matter.

I hate how stupidly hard this is. I want to be free of it. Gloria tries to convince me (and so far, she has) that I will never be able to be free. And if I manage to escape, I’ll be nothing, no-one and nowhere without her.

I am fighting. I have been doing my best to stick to the plan. I have been trying to be independent in my choices. Making the right ones for recovery.

I am wondering if this smothered feeling is what a sprouting seed feels just before its leaves burst out into the light and open air. That gives me some hope. If I keep going soon I will reach the sun and wind and rain. And freedom. I will be able to say:

Gloria is not me.

verbenacresce

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