Recovery is so terrifying. Or rather, Gloria makes recovery seem so. It’s like I’m standing on one cliff, looking at another. I want to get to the other one. But there’s no bridge, and it’s way too wide to jump. But everyone tells me I have to jump. I’m all ‘but it’s too far’, and they’re all, ‘jump, jump, jump!’ Don’t they know how impossible it is? Especially as they’re already there. And in between the cliffs there’s a swamp with crocodiles, piranhas, lampreys, leeches and vampire bats. R.O.U.S.s. Lava pits. Zombie-pig-men. I wish this were hyperbole.
These past few weeks I’ve been struggling again. Trying to walk the wire between relapse and recovery. Too scared to take the jump and trying to downplay the pain and danger of going backwards. I ended up taking the path of least resistance again, started restricting and losing. The allure of the falling numbers is so hard to resist. The feeling of strength as I push through the hunger, light-headed and empty, is beyond belief.
Today I attended the funeral of a truly great man. A man who knew how to live. The legacy of faith and love he left behind is inspiring. Inspiring enough to show me if I continue in this tiny, constrained and fearful way I will never leave anything of worth behind me. Gloria will rob me of my inheritance and my legacy.
I’ve reached out for help, I’m trying to follow the plan again. And today I was surrounded by crowds and food laden tables. AND I DIDN’T HAVE TO ESCAPE! I was able to be an almost normal person catching up with friends. Sure I wasn’t fully comfortable. But I sure wasn’t an arming-rubbing, skin-pinching, deep-breathing, eye-darting crazy-pants either. I even ate a couple of pieces of fruit. I cannot tell you what a HUGE step forward that is. It may seem so little, but it is bigger than any I’ve taken for a while. I might even start yelling ‘jump, jump, jump!’ with the rest of them.
Gloria is not me.