The empty

For most people, skipping a meal or two equals discomfort, sickness, dizziness, weakness. Skipping "a meal or two" was such a part of my disordered life, the norm. Now I can rarely skip one of my small meals, and if I do the feeling of emptiness is overpowering. I must confess: I still like the feeling of emptiness. The bad breath that comes with not eating for a period of time. The weakness. I also know that this is also a triggering feeling for me, but identifying it is a small step in recovery. Thankfully, this empty feeling, the one that I love normally quickly disappears because I remember all the other horrors that go along with the emptiness and know that what I want is a full life.

Old habits, die hard.

As I approach one year in recovery, I am overcome with more thoughts and temptation than ever to relapse. Although I'm not acting on it as often as other times, the drive to lose weight, to suck in, to throw up, to disappear, calls me. Loudly.

I realized the other day, I no longer have anyone in my life encouraging me in recovery. I have a few people in cyber world that send me a message of hope every few months or so(and I'm grateful for that). But in real life, it's just me and my husband. The very few that did know, don't mention it. They have either forgotten, or have assumed that I'm "all better now" because I look average-sized now. And I don't hold it against them at all.

I guess what I'm saying is that I am now approaching what I perceive to be the biggest hurdle in my recovery process. All my cheerleaders have moved on, the pounds have evenly distributed on my body. All that's left is my husband, who daily tells me how gorgeous I am and the calls back to anorexia that mock me when I try to combat them.

The call is getting stronger and louder.

I'm wondering if it's time to ask for help. Again. In real life.