I’ve reached a sort of stalemate with my mental state in recovery. I’m not particularly motivated lately: I know I don’t want to be sick anymore but I hate what my body is becoming, and I hate how I can’t look in the mirror without feeling disappointed or upset or flat-out disgusted.

Me, always.

This weight gain is necessary but it’s hard, and I feel so resigned to it. I have no choice but to keep gaining, and whenever I express my distress to my sister she’s stunned: “But really, you look fine.  You have to trust me: you look so much better.” Ask anyone in treatment what’s the worst thing someone on the “outside” can say to you and it’s almost always some sort of variation of “You look so healthy!” We know the phrase is said with all the best intentions, but to the recovering mind, “healthy” is a direct reference to our weight gain, a punch in the gut and a reminder that we’re no longer what we had worked so hard to be: thin. I don’t want to look healthy right now. I want to be healthy, yeah, but I hate how healthy looks on me. I really do.

I need to take a deep breath and rethink my thoughts, let go of the disordered ones and make room for healthier thinking. My mind is so used to over-complicating things and pushing me around that I need to rewire it, make things flow easy and simple. Pick myself up and brush the dirt off my shirt so I can start fresh.

I’m gonna close my eyes, and when I open them again, everything will make sense to me then..