Thanksgiving

Oh, thanksgiving. Before I got sick, I loved thanksgiving, the green beans, turkey dressing everything. From the baking and helping my momma in the kitchen to making the table as beautiful as I could I felt on top of the world.

            Then I got sick. Then I had to face my worst nightmare; a plate filled to the edges family gathered around me feeling as though all the eyes were on me. They were not.  When Thanksgiving arrived that year, I thought no one knew no one other than my boyfriend. I felt that no one noticed that I am disappearing before their eyes. I hated it. The worst feeling in the world is one where you have your biggest fear in front of you and having to deal with it, cover it up, stay strong, yet wanting to run away.

            Last Thanksgiving, the thanksgiving after treatment, from what I can remember I was okay. In the relative meaning of the word, I pushed through I did what I could and did not beat myself up. I was in control. I knew what went into the food, how the food was cooked and most of all that it was "safe." Safe in the sense of ED said it was safe. Everything conformed to his stupid rules. 

Those in recovery or the grips of your ED write down his rules, then read them back and reflect on how they help your true self and how they help ED win.

Now looking back on last year… I was not fine. ED was fine. ED was happy. ED won.

            This year I put the thought in my head that I would be all good I would have a normal Thanksgiving just like when I was a kid. That one thought, a preconceived thought killed me. This afternoon I got my plate by myself trying to be in control of what I had, but I felt as though eyes were watching me and I did not want the food police to come out and get me, so I filled my plate like everyone around me. Everyone is not me. So I sat down and waited for everyone else to sit down to say grace and to start eating. I eyed down my plate. There it was. I knew what went into the food, but ED began to yell. "way too much, so many calories, can't go on a walk or exercise, and worst of all you are a failure.” I failed! I was staring down my plate like something was going to happen! Nothing happened, and at the end of the meal, I was still looking at my plate. My full plate. The woman who sat next to me(she does not know much about my ED) turned to me and said that I had another helping and if I was going to finish. “ No I did not want to finish what I did want was to run, run into my old bedroom and sit in my safe place.”  My mom looked at me with disappointment in her eyes. I lost ED won. I went to the restroom and tried to talk myself into eating the pie I made. (photo below because of how pretty it was). I texted my best friend, so there goes three months behavior free.  I pulled myself together and went helped clean. I threw myself into the enormous pile of dishes; My mom kept telling me that I that I didn’t need to clean and come back and enjoy the company. I kept cleaning and not because I wanted too but because I didn’t want them to see the look of despair in my eyes. Once I was done, I sat down. Then it was time for pie; everyone said that I had to cut the pies. I hate cutting what I make. I feel like it ruins the perfection of them, but I do it. I serve everyone pie including myself.  Everyone was telling me how good they were and all I could think about was how many calories were in them, how much butter was in them and how I could have made them better.  I was done with the easy apart and already over it.

            I got in the car and drove to my in-laws. The food they have doesn’t comply with ED’s rules. I don’t know what it is, what is in it or anything. I sat there with yet another full plate of food sitting in front of me. I froze. I stood up,  walked out the door, and sat the step. I tried to calm myself down, and the only thing that happened was tears began to roll down my checks. My boyfriend came out and just looked at me with eyes of disappointment. I failed.

            I am trying so hard not to beat myself up. Recovery isn’t perfect. Recovery is flexible. Slips are okay. Slips happen. I am human. I am not a robot. I am not perfect. 

'The struggle you're in today is developing the strength you need tomorrow'

Happy thanksgiving y'all
Melissa 

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