Managing The Basics

What does recovery look like? What is recovery?

I’m sure for some people, recovery is “normalcy.” They eat when they’re hungry, stop when they’re full, they don’t count calories obsessively, and it is second nature for them to listen to and obey their hunger and fullness cues appropriately. They think about the eating disorder they once had as a distant memory, the way you might remember your sixth birthday party: a fleeting event in life that really does not effect who you are today.

I doubt that is what “recovery” will look like for me. The statistics are stacked against me to begin with: I was older (24 years) at the onset of my symptoms, and I have mixed symptomology (anorexic and bulimic behaviors). Both of these factors are associated with lower rates of “recovery” (in this case “recovery” meaning no longer having an eating disorder as classified by the DSM, NOT necessarily the cessation of all patterns of disordered eating).

What really scared me now, however, is the fact that I have been CBT-ed to death, and I’m still sick. I learned more “coping skills” at ABBHH and Remuda than you can shake a stick at. I can name and recognize every cognitive distortion there is. I know the physiological damage and physical danger that I am inflicting on myself each time I engage.

And yet I am no better than I was when I was diagnosed.

From all my hospitalizations at ABBHH and Remuda, I have learned the skill set that is supposed to enable me to use my voice instead of my body to communicate my needs and struggles. And I actually use them: I draw mandala’s until my colored pencils are nubs; I listen to calming music; I take warm baths; I read entertaining books; I journal here on my blog and in my private journal; I take my medications as prescribed; I get adequate sleep; I do my CBT worksheets every day; I work with my treatment team and the members of my treatment team work with each other on my behalf; I’m involved in the community as a Venture Scout troop leader and member of the rescue squad.

I had none of these skills when I was first diagnosed.

I have these skills now, but I am still sick.

That makes me feel like I am “unfixable.” I don’t think there is anything left for me to learn. At least when I was first diagnosed and heavily engaging in behaviors I had the excuse that I hadn’t had the treatment/therapy to learn to manage my thoughts and feelings. I don’t have that excuse anymore, and yet I still can’t manage myself.

G, (and others) at ABBHH are fond of saying that recovery comes with “consistency over time.” (I’ve always found that to be redundant, but who am I to question G? ) Well how fucking consistent do I have to be for how long?!

That is why I do not think that “recovery to normalcy” is possible for me. Hopefully, if I’m lucky, I’ll get to a point in life where I can maintain a healthy weight without binging and purging. But I think that the obsessive thoughts about food, weight, and appearance will always be there in the forefront of my mind. It’s a sad thought, but my goals need to be realistic, and the longer my illness persists, even as I use the skill set I’ve been taught as an in-patient and out-patient, the more I believe that a “complete” recovery is out of reach for me.