Disintegration

Yesterday I got weighed at the doctor's office. I was shocked.

I now weigh what I weighed before I ever got anorexia. I weigh now what I have not weighed for 6-7 years. I have to say, I thought I would never again be a "normal" size. That is because I could not fathom it. I have a pattern of thinking this way, I've realized...if I cannot imagine something ever happening (or not happening, as in the case of grad school), then I am safe. Conversely, if I can imagine something happening, then I am pretty sure that it will, at some point or another. This is completely illogical reasoning, I know, and it frequently leaves me blind-sighted. Enter the disastrous weighing-in of yesterday.

I have a lot of difficulty accepting this weight. There is a lot wrong with it. Most importantly, it does not mesh with my self-image. I find myself again at this crossroads...I either look good and feel bad, or I feel good and look bad. I have my mind and soul intact, or I have my body intact. This polarization is, of course, a losing battle, and that is precisely the cold severance that anorexia brings. I am never able to be integrated.

Something has to change, or I will never, never have peace. This time, I refuse to give preferential treatment to my body image over my physical health. I am too intimately acquainted with the loss of vitality and spirit that accompanies a prostitution to anorexia. I know now that pieces of myself will fall away and I will not even realize it until they're gone and it's too late. My awakening interests in music and writing and reading are worth so much more than an inevitability bottomless, passionless disorder.

I know all of this, but it doesn't make it any easier.