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.
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.
My fat pants are too tight.