2:20 p.m. - 09/20/02
struggling a bit.
I'm not sure of anything. Not really. I thought it was different, putting my whole life into my recovery than it was putting my life into my eating disorder. I've used recovery as a synonym for life in conversation, and I want to continue doing so. I know myself, foremost if not completely, because I'm in recovery. I know myself because I'm constantly learning about myself and constantly trying to live more fully as that person. Now, for the first time, I'm letting myself- or trying to let myself- feel disillusioned with it. I'm trying to let myself feel a little resentful of the work I'm doing and the people who have helped me do it. I'm disconnected from the process and that leaves me disconnected from myself. I'm angry and that leaves me lost.
I like how I feel when I'm working at this. I like the dorky girl-side who makes therapy jokes and therapy comments and buys therapy t-shirts. I like the introspective girl-side who is constantly looking into me, not for flaws, but for strengths, who trusts me so deeply that she thinks even my problems can be solved by me. I like the spiritual girl who takes time to be quiet, to move, to feel things she hasn't felt, the art of air she didn't used to breathe. I like all these people, all this me, and I don't want to lose it. But I didn't go into this in order to find them. I came into recovery because of who I was with at the time, and if being recovered means not having any of those people, what is the friggin point?
Can I be satisfied with what I've learned that I did not expect to know? Can I be satisifed with the perks that came without my seeking them? I wanted to feel, yes, I started eating because I wanted to feel. But I was able to want that because I felt safe, cared for, loved. I was able to do that because I had a family. The collective and the members of it, I had then. Now? Now I don't know who I am or what I want because I know better than to be who I was before I began this, but I'm not sure I want to be who I am. I've thrown myself completely into getting better, and now I wonder if I have no other option than this path. What if my real turn-off was a couple streets back, and now I'm on this highway for a long, long time?
I'm not happy where I am, and I'm not sure I can find happiness by continuing how I am. I want to be in recovery, but I want it for what it used to be. I don't want this to be another promise ultimately empty. I've been given so much, but is it worth it if the gifts don't include home? Is it worth a life of displacement to feel centered in yourself?
And if questioning that takes away the centered feeling, if daring to ask myself (on-line, no less) is this is worth it after all, takes away all the good I've had, even temporarily, what does that leave me? Homeless. Selfless. Terribly confused.
I don't remember feeling this way. When one-year came, I was extremely upset, but at least I was upset. I think the last time I felt this confused was January. And that was the craziest time in all this work. Less painful, maybe, then leaving RED but only because I couldn't fully feel the pain. January was hell, and I don't want to do this again. But I just don't know. Anything. I started to regain my faith in universe-god-power-ness and now I've lost my faith in recovery. Maybe it was my religion, too. Maybe I've worshipped this, and now I don't know who I am.
It really isn't a cult.
If I could call them up and tell them about this, would they help me understand? If I could voice these feelings, would they remember similar thoughts, their own or someone else's? Am I the first person to question this not because they're afraid of it, not because they don't want to do the work, but because they're not sure the work is giving them enough? It would be different if I could call them, if I could have their support. But my hurt says they want nothing of me. I've forgotten I stopped calling them. I only remember waking up at home, still begging not to leave. If I could call them, it would be different, but I wouldn't know where to start.
I love them so deeply, but so much time has cycled through, and I think I've hidden far more than I knew I did.
chord
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