I haven't blogged in about two-and-a-half months. I have been "getting well." I have been "eating normally." I have realigned my walk with God. I have gone through entire days where no one asks me, "Have you eaten today?"
And I have gained 25 pounds in 5 months. I have lost my best friend. I can't stand the way my clothes fit. I hate what I see in the mirror.
So which side is winning? Am I healthy? Or am I fat? And where do I go from here?
Soon after moving into my new apartment, I started working at Starbucks. In the same instant, my career took off again, so between the two jobs I did not have even a single day off for almost eight solid weeks. Most days, I barely had time to shower and sleep, so when my gym membership expired practically untouched, I decided to let it run out instead of renewing.
In mid-December, I came home to be with my family for the holidays. In the six weeks I have been here, I have put on eight pounds. In an attempt to "eat normally" in front of my family, I have actually gone overboard and I'm about to bust into the next size of clothes.
I want it to stop. Every morning I step on the scale hoping, praying to God that I will be lighter today than I was yesterday. Some days I get it, some days not. And now I am teetering at a whopping 150 pounds.
Six months ago, I promised myself I'd be 100 or less by now. What have I done?
More importantly, what do I do now? In a few weeks, I will return to New York to resume my post-holiday career. I would love to quit Starbucks and get back into the gym. My ass feels so fucking lazy it's despicable.
But I want to keep the earnest relationship I've developed with the Lord, and I know He will never condone my anorexic behavior. In fact, I can't even call myself anorexic anymore, not at this weight. This yo-yo effect is more typical of an Ed-Nos diagnosis.
A few months ago, just before I left New York, my best friend and I got into a serious fight. We went out "to eat" and I barely picked at my salad and she ordered a burger. When the orders came, she demanded to know why I "wasn't eating." To my defense, I WAS eating, but I told her that my stomach was upset and I didn't feel like eating much. In her fashion of dramatic protest, she pushed her untouched burger aside and refused to eat another bite. To her, it was her way of getting my attention and letting me know she disapproved of my decision. To me, it seemed more like a challenge of "I can eat less than you."
But the fight didn't end there. After dinner, she made three long trips to the bathroom in quick succession, continuing to ream me any time she came back to the table. When I accusingly asked what the hell she was spending so much time in the bathroom for, she couldn't take it. She may have been throwing up, but I never ate in the first place. I had won, we both knew it, and she wasn't losing very gracefully. And so she walked out, slamming the door behind her, and we have hardly spoken since.
Is this worth it? Now I sit here fat but "healthy." I have gained the compassion of my family, and lost the relationship with my best friend. I knowing eating is the "right thing" to do, but I hate what it's done to my body.
Do I return to anorexia and fasting? Or should I learn to be happy with my plus-figure? Is there another way that leads to weight loss while still eating healthy? My "healed" mind reels at the possibilities. The voice of Ana, never leaving my head, whispers seductively, "Let's go back. Let's do it again. You looked so damn hot at 125, and this time we'll go even lower!" Damn, that voice is sexy. So fucking tempting.
But the voice of my Father cries out, "No! I love you as you are! I created you to be this way, and I wish you could see yourself with all the love I hold for you." I feel pitiful, and unworthy of such grace.
Clearly, I cannot be classified as "recovered." Only fatter than I was when I was so obviously sick.
What have I done to myself? Am I ok? Where do I go from here?