Privilege

How dare I.

I don’t deserve the recognition and praise that comes with claiming recovery. I don’t deserve to say I’m recovered. Not anymore.

Recovery takes hard work, and I’m half-assing everything. I still let it control me. Mostly because “I can manage it” or whatever.

I still participate in behaviors, and I don’t keep the thoughts in check. I let it rule me and next time my doctor asks I won’t be able to say I’m symptom free.

At work there are weight loss challenges. There’s always someone on a diet. There is a cafe at the hospital connected to where I work with nutrition information and I can’t avoid hearing talk about fat this and carbs that.

I can’t avoid eating around people.

I try to stay good but food is always so forefront and I can’t help but let it consume me.

Ha. Consume.

It’s not the worst it’s ever been, for which I should be thankful for. But I really hate being at the heaviest I’ve ever been with restrictive/purgey thoughts.

Kind of rough on the sort-of-attempting-to-be-normal thing.

Whatever.

My fat pants are too tight.

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