This is the fourth (and FINAL!) "old" re-post from Recovering Grace. Post Date was Thursday, May 3rd. I'm only posting the ED related things here, so please do actually go visit the blog for kitties and book reviews and other things as they occur. Thanks!
Blog Link: recoveringgracebl
I wrote my very first journal entry for therapy just one year ago, on May 27th. I was so full of self-hatred that I could barely move. I spent days just lying on the couch, intermittently sleeping or crying. I got up and pretended to be okay if I absolutely had to - I went in to work a couple of times a week, I managed a Mother’s Day outing, got drunk on my birthday...
I had been dieting fairly successfully for over two years, but once again it was all falling apart. The weight was creeping back up, I couldn’t get interested in counting calories or going back to the gym. It all seemed so useless. And unfair. Besides, no matter what I did or how much weight I lost I was still so ugly, and stupid, and selfish. What did it matter anyway? What did *I* matter, anyway?
And so I go to this therapist and she wants me to talk about myself - no, not just that, to write about myself, about my stupid, selfish feelings. I’m supposed to take a look at these bad things I say to myself and take them back, replace them with things that are good about me.
I had no faith that it would work. But I am a people-pleaser, and I do what I’m told. I wrote the first entry, and the next, and the next, and soon the words were flowing every day and I wanted to write in this journal, I needed to write, to get it out. Sometimes these thoughts are like poison and you have to suck it out, spit them out on the page and take a good hard look at them so that you can heal.
So... the following entry is me, a year ago. How strange and long ago it seems.
Journal Entry #1
I am embarrassed to even keep a journal of this. I don't think that I even like myself enough to sit here and have a conversation with me, and especially not about food, or eating. I hate eating, I hate food, and I hate me.
But I don't want to.
First day of therapy today. Mostly I spilled my guts, said all of the stuff that no one, single person has ever known. I cried a lot. I hate that too. I guess I've gotten soft in my old age, because it's gotten harder not to cry in front of other people now
We set goals:
Eat (5-6 small meals per day)
I am a mess. I don't think that I created this mess alone, but I certainly helped. Now the mess is too d@%^ big to clean up all alone. Fortunately, I am not alone. At least there's that.
I'm fat. I'm plain. I'm boring. I'm needy. I'm angry. I'm sad. I'm mean. I'm weak. I'm empty. I'm selfish.
I'm smart. I'm funny. I love. I'm a friend. I'm a writer. I'm an auntie. I am loved. I am not alone.
“You think you deserve this pain, but you don’t.” (from Spark's ED Support Group)