Choosing me.

For so long, every time I did so much as think about eating, my thoughts would be consumed with “you’re going to be fat”, “your boobs are gonna look massive”, “do you really want flabby arms?” “What about those thunder thighs?” “You’re not pretty enough to be fat”. These were the fears that consumed me on a daily basis. Most days, I still do struggle with these thoughts. Granted, my eating disorder served more purpose in giving me a sense of safety and comfort and control and happiness and it almost always promised me days and days free of any anxiety. Until it didn’t. Until it turned its back on me, made me fear my best friends and conversations with my mum. Until it took away any chance of me exploring this city as an adult for the first time. Until it convinced me I was hated, alone, unloved and unworthy despite my friends loving and continuous attempts to show me that these thoughts were in fact, untrue.

I think it’s interesting that I’ve been in “eating disorder recovery” for a while now, but never quite fully challenged myself. Quite frankly, I’ve been half arse-ing it for so long because all I wanted to do was please everyone and please my eating disorder. I’ve only just realised that this isn’t possible.

With choosing recovery, and choosing to commit to recovery and recovery only, I’ve had to challenge my eating disorder. Truly challenge it. If a little (read: very loud) voice in my head can make me challenge my own values and ideas, why can’t I challenge it?

So now, my eating disorder screams. All day, literally. It tries so hard to convince me that choosing recovery and a future with freedom and happiness is only going to ruin my life. It tries so hard to convince me that if I’m fat, no one will care about me. It tries so so so hard to convince me that I could never succeed without it.

The only difference between listening to the voice in my head and abiding to its rules, and choosing to recover, is now I can say “so what?” and know I’ll be okay.