When recovery gets hard.

I made the terrible mistake of reading over my post Losing My Life to Anorexia at a time when I was already feeling vulnerable. People say to me all the time - well, aren't you glad that's all over now? But as Marya Hornbacher wrote in Wasted: A Memoir of Anorexia and Bulimia: 

It's never over. Not really. Not when you stayed down there as long as I did. You never come back, not all the way. Always, there is an odd distance between you and the people you love and the people you meet, a barrier; thin as the glass of a mirror. 
You never come all the way out of the mirror; you stand, for the rest of your life, with one foot in this world and one in another, where everything is upside down and backward and sad. 

I still haven't learned how to live. And as I speak to you now, I watch a bumblebee dancing back and forth among the rows of purple flowers outside the window, wondering how on earth he knows where to go. Because I don't. 

Wandering along the streets late at night, every night, I think and think. Where am I going, and how do I get there? 

Most nights I drive, around familiar streets then further into unfamiliar ones. Hand always hovering near the horn; alert. The hum inside my mind of it's okay, it's okay, it's okay drowning out the sound of the one other car on the road - an office worker who couldn't find it in them to say no to a late night.

Where I'm going with this odd, slightly uncomfortable post, I don't know. Perhaps I just want to say recovery is hard. 

But never, ever, ever give up. 

And one final thought...

Show me some love and hit that like button, and if you have any thoughts or questions about this post, please do drop me a comment below.

Gemma McLeodComment