I have an eating disorder. I have an eating disorder. I have an eating disorder. I have an eating disorder.
I do. I have an eating disorder. That is what I learned today. That is what I have to accept today. I have to believe it. I have to accept it. Just like an alcoholic has to admit they have a disease and they need help. Really? I have an eating disorder?
Almost six months of therapy…it’s taken this long for me to really understand that I have an eating disorder? I know I have a poor relationship with food. I know I’m an emotional eater. I know I eat mindlessly. I know I make poor choices. I know I have a mental block when it comes to exercising and eating the right amount. I understand the principles. But I can’t quite understand that I have AN EATING DISORDER.
I am learning how to eat. I am spending thousands of dollars to have someone teach me how to eat like a normal person. Doesn’t that sound crazy? But it’s not, is it? I’m not the only one in this situation. In fact I just met someone who is in pretty much the exact same position as me.
I thought six months ago was the beginning of this journey. But it wasn’t. It’s starting now. It’s something I have to get serious about. It’s not something that will just miraculously start happening to me because I go in and talk to someone once a week. I have to work at it. I have to practice it. I have to learn it. I have to understand it.
This is where it starts. And this is why I’m here. In all the hard times when I was young, I’d write. Because there was no one else. It was all I could do to manage and cope with the minor things in my life that felt huge to me. I’m a super-feeler. But all my life I’ve been forced to not feel. I should always put on a face. I needed to be strong to not hurt someone’s feelings. I didn’t want to hurt someone else because it would hurt me. So I ate. No…wait…first I’d write…before I had the access to the food…I’d write. It’s what got me through grade school and most of highschool. Although in high-school I was more likely to be writing a letter to someone instead of to a diary. But I would write.
So, on this journey I’m starting, that’s what I need to do again. I have to write. I have to blog. And I’m not ready to share my identity. I’m not sure what my identity is.
Hopefully that is what I will learn as this goes along….it’s going to be a long ride.