An Uncomfortable Predicament

 I know I talk about my eating disorder a lot here, and I'm adding that preface to this post because I don't feel like I deserve to even claim I have an eating disorder now that I'm weight restored. If anything, I'm getting fat. 

So for the person reading this, I can imagine the contrast between the amount of emotional and psychological turmoil caused and my physical presentation is stark, however this should serve as a reminder that eating disorders are mental illnesses. 

So, to confess, I've been bingeing a lot lately. I was discussing one of the health consequences of these binges with a friend who lovingly suggested I see a doctor. This is the correct response, however it only further highlights the main difficulty I am presented with.

I could, and arguably should, go to a doctor, because it is a health matter and that is the only source for medical and health information. However, when I know the cause of the health concern is my bingeing, there is little they can actually offer.

They might offer a prescription for symptom relief, however the symptoms will only persist if I don't address the reason they're presenting, so they're unlikely to given potential side effects and long term impacts from the medication. 

With the issue being the result of my eating disorder and not an underlying actual medical concern, they're likely to suggest referrals to dietetics and psychology. These are both great ideas, they're the correct solution, however it then falls on me to engage with the services, to seek out the clinics, to attend the appointments (at my cost), and to actually implement the interventions. This will be a slow process likely based on urge surfing, meal timing, craving tolerance and mood regulation. However if I binge while engaging in the process, I still can and probably will. They can't stop me. 

It is up to me- and me along, to stop shovelling junk into my face.

I only have myself to blame for these consequences, and I only have myself to depend on to get out of this cycle.

It is my responsibility to recognise what triggers the binges and avoid the triggers.

I have to know what foods are too highly palatable and to avoid them.

I need to go for a walk when the urge hits.

I need to plan meals and meal times that will keep me full throughout the day.

I have to remember to drink water when I think I need sweets.

It's up to me to have fruit and vegetables available for snacking.

It's nobody else's responsibility to stop me from buying protein bars.

I need to decide whether eating junk in the moment matters more to me than the very serious and potentially lifelong repercussions.

It doesn't matter what trauma is causing my behaviour. It doesn't matter why I'm doing it. My heart and the rest of my body don't give a fuck who is to blame for me being disordered.

Knowing when my disorder started or why I keep going back to it won't unlock some hidden secret to stop it.

Maybe it is genetic, maybe it is permanent. Maybe it's not even an eating disorder. Maybe it's some terminal uniqueness I suffer with.

Doesn't matter.

I might never be blessed with the body I want. I might never be able to see the work I've put in during training. I might never look any better.

Doesn't mean I can't try, and doesn't mean I shouldn't be mindful of my food choices.