I’ll do it tomorrow…

You mustn’t allow yourself to go back to the ed clinic until you weigh less, or you only eat x calories a day, or you waist measure x cms.

I will eat better tomorrow.

I will do more exercise tomorrow.

I will be kind to myself tomorrow.

The past few years seem to have gone in a blur of plans to make things right; plans that are never carried out. I can’t count the number of times that I have quit therapy part way through, or refused help because of my refusal to be weighed. This one ginormous hurdle has dominated me and kept the grip of my eating disorder grow tighter.

The idea of another human being knowing and monitoring my weight fills me with utter dread. Even when I was being weighed regularly in the past, it never seemed to get easier. Then, months of cancelling doctors appointment followed and made way for the fear to grow. It has now been around 2 years since I last allowed somebody to weigh me.

In those two years, I have moved out of home, made new friends in a new city, found a new doctor, been having CBT therapy, and overdosed twice. In many ways I have had two years of very exciting opportunities, and also managed to convince some people that my recovery is going well. I think that I have become better at exhibiting “normal” behaviour, while continuing to be disordered and destructive when alone. My disorder has certainly changed- but not really for better or worse- it’s just different now because my whole life is different than when it all started god knows how many years ago!

Today has been emotional because my cbt ends very soon. The next stage is that my gp and therapist want me referred to the eating disorder service in my local area. From past experience with the ed clinic back at home, I know you can’t have the treatment without allowing them to monitor your weight. Puts me in a sticky spot….

I have been avoiding this for years, and I know that is massive sign of my disorder in itself, and I know that I’m going to have to do it to get better. But I also know that the last I was weighed, I took an overdose and researched suicide methods when the drugs didn’t kill me. Putting myself in that same situation is asking for that awful reaction all over again and I wonder if it’s really worth all the distress?

Then, there’s this little part of me that has been desperate to have somebody else take charge of my eating disorder, as that seems like a futile goal for me to do myself, and I also know that being taken on by the service would reduce my doubt over the severity of my illness. I think I’m going to say yes.

Oh god help me.

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