i moved

A few days ago, I was diagnosed with strep throat, right on the heels of a significant tooth surgery. What started out as an uncomfortable inconvenience quickly became unbearable. Out of nowhere, the pain and swelling took over and brought me to the fetal position on the couch, curled up, and rocking trying to soothe the intensity.

Back to urgent care, more meds.

Finding minor relief with stronger meds, I dozed off hopeful to repay my negative sleep bank until I was woken up by, “It’s been a few days since you have had a meal…”

Ugh, I tried to roll away from the sound of its voice.

“You haven’t had cheese or chips or crackers or anything fried…”

Trying to ignore it, but the volume starts to pound in my ear, “You don’t need food like everyone else does, remember?!?”

Furious, I sit up and hear, “You have had a liquid diet jumpstart. Being sick is a good thing!! Let’s drop a few pounds before vacation”

I looked around my empty bedroom to gain my bearings and realized that for someone who had not eaten solid food in a few days I was considerably not hungry. Sometimes, lack of hunger can be due to pain, however, this was different. If the grumbles of an empty fuel tank go quiet, that means the volume of its voice is becoming louder. They both can’t exist in the same space of my head; the goal is always balance.

I can’t find my voice of resilience; she is being choked out by the temptation of control.  The siren call of “this time it will feel different”, or “remember how good it feels to have a solid grip on one thing?”

I have been here before. Paralyzed by the familiar; unable to move.

Wrapping up into the comfort of a disorder feels like trying to relax on a bed of hot coal and yet, when you are wired the way you are when you have any kind of disorder, you find yourself in the pit of this conundrum time and time again. Giving in would eliminate the uncomfortable pit I can feel deep in my chest. Giving in to the gentle stabbing voice that calls me “fit and thin and healthy” would feel comfortable for a few days.

But, today, just as the cloud of despair began to roll over my being and take with it by ability to listen to my body, I stepped out of the room I was in. I changed my location… immediately. I was in my bedroom and then the next thing I knew I was in the living room, downstairs.

I moved.

It didn’t matter if I moved from the bedroom to the bathroom, or from my hallway to my deck, what matters is, I moved.

In the moment that the familiarity of my disorder begged me to lay back down with it, I moved.

Stepping out onto the unfamiliar terrain of restructured behavior feels rocky under the feet. Opening the top of the rusted metal toolbox and reaching in for the therapy that I know works is as awkward as it is uncomfortable. But I’ve seen what my life looks like when I am deep in the throws of the disorder and that is not what I want for my life. I did not work so hard to get here to walk away. Miserable is not comfortable.

The thick, hazy fog of relapse began to dissipate enough for me to see the road ahead of me that I traveled on was not necessarily gone but had curved to the side just enough to be out of sight. I dust myself off and confide in mother earth that I know I am worth more than the pain of this demon and I can overcome it this time too. I stand up in the welcoming and forgiving light of the moon and dance my heart towards healing.