I’ve noticed this phenomenon in the past, but only fleetingly. I’m talking about the mental slowdown associated with the poor nutrition I’m currently struggling with. In the past, it has slowed me down at work, somewhat, but it didn’t really impede me that much… or, maybe, it did. My brain was starving, so I probably had a difficult time telling.
This time, though, whoa! In the last week or so, my ability to meditate has been significantly hampered and it is very noticeable. I’m assuming its related to my ED taking a turn for the worse.
I’m in bed now, having eaten nothing today. Even though I’ve usually been eating something near the end of the day, everyday, that bit of (almost) daily nourishment has been happening later and later and, in general, its been getting easier and easier to not eat (although, its more accurate to say that its been getting harder and harder to eat).
In Refuge Recovery this evening, I shared about how, for the longest time, I didn’t feel all that guilty about my drug addiction because I was “only hurting myself”. I saw the fallacy in that with my most recent relapse. I’m using the same argument for allowing my eating disorder to continue. Intellectually, I think I might be similarly wrong, but I’m just not seeing it yet. Am I going to have to really hurt someone through this behavior as well? I hope not. Unless it gets to the point that it kills me, I don’t see how that can happen.
I must be missing something. It is a mental illness, after all, and maybe with it active like this, its preventing me from seeing the damage I might be doing, which maybe others have no problem identifying. I don’t know. I really don’t.
For the last couple of weeks, as I’ve been stringing together a couple days here and a couple days there of fasting, I’ve been thinking, “I’d like to be able to say its been x days since I ate something” and then beating myself up when a moment of rationality strikes and I finally eat something.
I’m not beating myself up anymore. Odds are, I’m going to start putting together longer and longer periods of fasting, not because I necessarily want to, but simply because that’s where my disease will have progressed to. I’ll stop talking about it even though it’ll be all I think about. As my weight starts to drop, I’ll flip-flop between hiding in baggy clothes and flaunting my thinness, not caring if people know or figure out that I’m anorexic.