Sometimes I want to recover. Sometimes I want to say “fuck it” and eat whatever I want without thinking about fat or calories or any of that. Sometimes I eat dessert, and then want another dessert so I have something else. Sometimes I think I look “good enough” and consider just buying larger pants.
But sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I can’t imagine giving up control of my diet. Sometimes I can’t bring myself to eat even 1000 calories in a day. Sometimes I feel immense guilt for not working out. Sometimes I look in the mirror and hate everything I see. Sometimes I can’t even wear a normally-fitting t-shirt, never mind something form-fitting.
So what do I do? Am I making progress? When I think of 10 years ago, bawling on the phone to my girlfriend because I couldn’t make myself eat some peas after fasting for four days, I think I’m doing much better. When I think of where I was nine years ago, binging and purging over a dozen times a day, I think I’m almost normal. But when I think of 13 years ago, before I ever started “dieting,” I think I’m pathetic.
Maybe I’ll be actually recovered in another ten years. Hopefully I make it that long.