I’ve been thinking lately about recovery from my eating disorder. For months on end, I was sure that I would relapse. It wasn’t that I wanted to or even felt that strong of urges, but more that it seemed to be a thing people did, and I was stressed and depressed, and had the opportunity to, so why wouldn’t I?
For whatever reason, though, I didn’t. I kept eating normally and all that jazz. I’m almost two years into recovery. I honestly take my functioning for granted; I’ve been learning math and classical Indian dance and languages. I have showed up on exchange as much as I could, and really implemented healthy coping skills.
I was just musing about the possibility of things going downhill this summer, and then my host mom knocked on my door to give me some ice cream. I was like, oh, ice cream, great! And then I ate it, end of story. Something my old dietitian said to me once was that I was afraid of both being okay and not okay, which is probably really apt. Relapse is always a possibility, and at least for me, right now, it would be a conscious choice. To quote @velvettruce, “I am afraid that I will fail at greater things than this.” The thing is, the stakes of my life are higher now.
The focus is not on my using behaviors, but how I can (potentially) use a postposition in Hindi. Expectations are higher, and I think that’s a good thing. The idea of maintaining recovery indefinitely is overwhelming, and yet, I might as well. Relapse would give me a break; it would be safe and familiar and what-have-you, but I want better for myself. I have proven, time and time again, that I’m willing to do what it takes in order to ensure that I have a future.