I did that thing I wasn’t supposed to do.
I did it even though I knew it wasn’t going to do me any good.
I stepped on the scales and that pain I knew would arrive came rushing, burning through every part of my body.
I stood there, simply hurting.
8 weeks into recovery and I had gained some weight.
I could see it coming, I knew I had. I knew I felt bloated and bigger around my midriff. I mean, I’d spent hours criticising the way I looked before I even stepped onto the scales.
I ignored the fact I was now exercising 4-5 times a week. I forgot that it was the end of the day and I had been eating 3 meals a day like clockwork. I refused to accept I was wearing trainers and clothes when I took that fatal step onto the scales.
And boy, am I struggling with this weight gain?
I’m trying to reassure myself that 4 llb’s isn’t that bad but the Demon inside tells me it is. I’ve spent countless hours crying to my boyfriend because the need to restrict and the desire to purge have been at their loudest for the past 12 days.
It makes me feel embarrassed to need so much help lately.
I’m suffering from this constant fear that they’re all going to leave me.
Most of all, it hurts. Everything simply hurts and there’s no actual medication I can take that will numb the pain.
Going round in circles. Can’t face looking at my reflection but simultaneously can’t stop looking at my ‘imperfections’. Don’t want to eat my meals but fighting to make sure that I do.
At least I’m still fighting.
I’ve just spent the weekend in Manchester with my best friend. A trip we planned a while ago and if I hadn’t paid for my ticket, I may have given into the ED telling me to bail.
We did nothing. A few walks, a few movies and lots of cups of tea. But it was perfect and, as it turns out, just what I needed.
I needed nothing.
I needed time away from my place where, unfortunately, bad memories already exist.
I needed time to stop and breathe and think.
Time to just do nothing.
I feel better for it.
I’m trying to take some time to understand that just because I’ve gained weight, it doesn’t mean I’m fat. Just because the number has increased doesn’t mean I’m unworthy.
In fact, I’ve started to feel more ‘worthy’ than ever before.
And between you and me, I have learnt an incredible amount these last 8 weeks.
I’ve been using a compassionate mind work book, I’ve had 8 weeks of balanced meal plans and healthy exercise. I’ve had a few purges and hardly any binges and I’ve hardly skipped any meals.
It hurts and I constantly feel drained.
But I’m happier.
And whether or not I’ve gained 1-4 pounds…I’m definitely healthier.
And I’m sure that, one day, being skinny will not correlate to being ‘healthy’ but that, maybe those extra couple of pounds will.
Nothing like a train ride to dedicate some time to getting negative thoughts away from me ❤️