I'm not dead, I promise.

I'm just pregnant. Very very very pregnant (6 1/2 months, to be precise). And in "recovery," if you'd believe it. Ha. Still. After what seems like forever, I still can't NOT look at calories and hate my body. Even while it's big and beautiful because it's carrying a life.

I am slightly frightened of what I will become when I begin the journey of losing the baby weight. Until then, though, I revel in the beauty of tiny kicks and jabs in my belly and eat everything I'm supposed to in order to keep this little angel healthy.

I hope you all are doing well. I do miss you so.

-PD

I miss my disorder. (fucked, right?)

Fuck.

How twisted is that? I can't believe I'm saying that.

And yet... It's true.

To be honest, I knew this would happen. I figured out from the very beginning of recovery that I'd have difficulty in feeling like myself without the obsession, without the hate, without the CONTROL.

Everything's out of control now, and it's absolutely... insane.

I don't even know if I could survive my current life (school, my daughter, two jobs, social life, etc.) if I was still constantly preoccupied with killing myself slowly. It did take up so much of my time and energy. But... So much of me wonders if the pieces wouldn't fit more perfectly if I were just... perfect.

Looking at photos of myself from October and November (right before I started gaining again), I can hardly believe how far I've let myself fall. I don't know the number, but it's gotta be bad. Probably close to 145 or 150. I don't know if that's true. It could be just 140. Who the fuck knows?

I feel so... fail.

I'll stop now. I just wish I knew what was to become of me, and my mind.

I hope you ALL are well. I miss you muchly, and think of you often. <3

Well, then. This is recovery, huh?

I'm doing it.

Yeah.

And I'm feeling horribly fail and fat so often that I frequently question this move. As in... hourly. Minute-ly. Yes.

I've no scale at the moment (as prescribed by my lovely ED therapist), so I don't actually know how much I've gained. It feels like fifty pounds, but I know better. Realistically speaking, it's probably closer to eleven.

The freedom I feel, though, on the whole... It's unimaginable. Indescribable. I'm not happy yet, no... But damn... I think I must be on my way.

Having lived through all of this, I feel... so many things. Lost, without my disordered habits. Out of control, without the calorie-counting and constant weighing. FAT and unattractive, without my beautiful bones pushing through my skin everywhere.

I love that body. I miss it so much.

Looking in the mirror is literally like looking at a stranger's body. A stranger's... healthy, supple, feminine... body. My ass is back in full force, and I've gained two cup sizes since I stopped purging and restricting. My belly jiggles a little, and my thighs touch.

And yet...

The letting go of all of my self-loathing (a work in constant progress) is something so very ... priceless. Invaluable.

I am learning... (can't believe I'm actually saying this...) ...to love my SELF.

It's really quite insane, I know.

I still contemplate purging every single time I overeat. This is often.

I still look in the mirror and struggle to fight back the thoughts of relapse. That temptation is so sweet, and yet, somehow, I know that I will beat it.

This disorder will forever be a part of me. It has changed my life eternally. I will always be a part of this disorder, as well. My mind doesn't know how to think without it, and so it will continue to plague/help/torture/bless me as I continue my life.

One day at a time.


... Miss you, lovies.

<3