Fear and Shame

 I have always seen the best of specialist. Although my family seemed to always believe it was those doctors' and dietitians' v job to save me, it has always been my responsibility to cure myself.  It is another tragic enigma, however, that responsibility does not always fall on those with ability. From the very beginning I was told that if i had the will, then I had the power to recover. As much as I want to believe that, I sincerely think it is a devastating fallacy. As horrible as the eating disorder has been, I honestly believe it saved me at times. If I hadn't had that purpose, that goal, that awful comfort, that taunting voice pushing me along, I believe I would have long ago give up on this life. I believe that I would have long ago fallen and stayed down. I have to admit that at times my sheer brokenness has kept me alive. There were times I had all the will to beat the disorder, but I really don't believe had the power to. At those times, doing so would have sent me into a world without an ounce of light. 

Today as I stand with my feet on the ground, more recovered than I have been since I was 15, I wonder if it will ever be possible for me to truly leave this behind...forever. I have this feeling that I am afraid to even voice. It frightens me because my whole self is screaming that it is an inevitable truth. All those I trust will insist that this is a choice, that I can change it, and that the feeling is just that: a feeling. I am too ashamed to share it, too afraid to really believe it, and too comforted by it to truly fight it. 

( I feel as though a relapse is approaching  and there is no way to avoid it; that I HAVE to go through it.)