I just got home from my very last night of IOP. I am now officially discharged from treatment and released back into the world. We had our traditional discharge rock ceremony- everyone wrote a word they think describes me or my recovery on this cute little stone and then I get to have and hold it forever. I love the words: Believe, motivation, fun, tenacity, shine, colorful, and my personal favorite, deserving.
I'm sad and a little scared. Sad because I'm saying goodbye to a group of women I never imagined existed. We're all so profoundly similar, and not just because of the eating disorder but because of all the other shit it has done to our lives. But I'm scared too. Scared because I know I'm far from being recovered. I still have behaviors. Less of them, but still. I'm still bingeing. I'm still restricting.
Remember I didn't even want to do treatment? My parents made me. I didn't want to recover. I get frustrated when people expect me to embrace a process I was forced into. I'm not on board with recovery yet. Maybe I'll want it more someday. It's devastating to say and I'm sorry if it's triggering but that's the truth. I learned A TON about my eating disorder. I really did. But even so I still want to carry it around with me like my own fuzzy security blanket. I still WANT to fall back on restriction when I feel lonely and confused, and I still look forward to my next binge episode.
Anyways. That's that. Somehow I wish my treatment had a happier ending like, I'm cured! People ask me that you know; neighbors, friends, cousins... they say, "Did it work?" As if I've been doing rounds of chemotherapy and just waiting for the doctor to tell me I'm all clear.
That is depressing, and it's okay. I'll be okay. I don't want this post to sound like I'm giving up or threatening to relapse into oblivion. I'm just being honest. That's what this blog is for. This is my life and I'm working on it.