longing to be whole

I dreamed that I was sick again. I dreamed that I was restricting like I used to. The problem is that I haven't been restricting so my body doesn't feel sick. In my dream it was the anorexia that every eating disorder longs for, the one that allows the control and euphoria of restricting while still having the feelings of being healthy. It was the lie that orange always promised, "You can be different. You can restrict and not get sick."

A lie is a lie, but for a moment it was a familiar lie that beckoned to me to try again. It was a lie that reassured me that it could be different. The dream came at a time of body loathing. It was a dream that made the idea of anorexia sound good for a moment. Maybe more than a moment. 

I have had to be extremely vigilant this week to maintain recovery. Illness sounds alluring; stress, a packed schedule, and an upset stomach have made it difficult to battle the allure. And yet I have battled. I have fought to remember where I have come from. I have fought to remember the pain when my family hugged me. I have fought to remember that healthy is entirely better. 

To this point, I can say I've fought well. I have had meals that would have been easy to skip because no one but me would have known. Now to continue fighting for my recovery. How I long to be completely whole. How I long for the day when those thoughts don't creep in. Though I don't know if that day will ever actually arrive, I will continue to fight as I hope for it.

Healing my heart

Once again violence filled my dreams last night. I've allowed myself to become accustomed to pleasant sleep which makes it so much harder when the nightmares return to haunt me. Today I feel sluggish and tired. It doesn't matter that I had enough hours of sleep because it wasn't restful sleep. Today I feel as though I'm walking through jello knee deep.

And yet the violence of my dreams was different and therefore I'm intrigued and curious about their meanings. My thoughts were still filled with assault but it wasn't reliving the assaults of my past. The attackers were unknown to me but every bit as clear and vivid as the dreams of known attackers.

Likewise my reactions were different in these dreams. My feelings were ones that related strength. I wasn't the cowering little girl. I wasn't the terrified teenager. I was me, here and now. I was a woman. A strong woman.

I cannot explain how I could feel so vulnerable in my dreams and yet simultaneously feel power and strength fill my veins. I awoke incredibly disturbed and yet not distraught as used to be the norm. I am healing. I can feel it in my dreams. It is amazing and freeing and not nearly as painful as it was when healing was beginning.

And though I can feel my heart mending, I can also feel the cavern of what remains to be healed. Healing is a process, a journey. One that requires me to show up fully and completely. One that, even now, I still must take one step at a time. It is a journey worth walking. It isn't over by far, but it's no longer in the devastating, soul crushing, pain of the journey new.

Once I was afraid if I let go the dam of unshed tears that I would never stop crying. For a time it did seem that way. And now I realize that the tears do stop and life does continue and healing does come even though it comes slowly.