Having just arrived home from a therapy session, I have but one thing on my mind.
(Okay, so that last one has been lingering around the outer edges of my brain since Saturday when I baked a delicious batch of said eatables, and I'm painfully aware that I'm almost at the bottom of my supply. Hurm.)
I was planning on doing a post today about the joys of driving around, by myself, in a car, and yoga.
My adventures thus far into the realm of deep breathing and long stretches, how much I love my bright blue mat, my embarrassingly tiny, tight, stretchy yoga shorts, etc.
I've begun to enjoy my daily yoga sessions, even if it is still awkward getting instruction from some pony-tailed chap on a DVD.
As to the driving, let's just say the music is loud, and the driver is grinning.
But I no longer feel like posting about yoga or motor-vehicle-propelled gypsy pursuits, and if this blog isn't about posting things that I would like to post, then I don't see the point in posting at all.
Right now, I'm just plain frustrated.
Frustrated with my family.
Frustrated with circumstances.
Frustrated with life.
Frustrated with this stupid, mind-manipulating, brain-devouring, life-consuming thing known to everyone else as "Anorexia", and to me as "A Living Nightmare."
Going to treatment, being in treatment, and leaving treatment were all so easy compared to the battle that is now applying treatment outside of treatment, and staying at a healthy weight.
The voices in the my head- the ones that tell me I shouldn't eat, don't deserve to live, say I'm disreputable, unlovable, and hopelessly imperfect- were conveniently quieter when I was on the unit in New York.
Now they've turned the volume back up, knowing that I have far less to fall back on .
The hardest part of all of this is knowing that I do have something to fall back on.
The greatest thing of all.
A gracious, heavenly Father who loved me enough to die for me, save my soul, and continually forgive me as I not only live in sin, but fight this extremely sinful monster that resides in my head.
Nothing is worse than feeling like I'm disappointing Him so much, so why even try to please Him at all?
Nothing is harder than ignoring those thoughts and continually asking for forgiveness, trying to trust Him with all of the variables and circumstances in my life that so frighten me, and attempting to remove and squash the things that are stealing the throne of my heart from Him.
I've heard it asked before "If you're a Christian, why do you have an Eating Disorder? Isn't that unholy or something?"
This is often followed by "Do you think God did this to you on purpose?"
I have no good answer for the first, and no explanation for the second.
Just a response that I need to trust Him.
Oh, how I feel like I am failing in the only real endeavor I am striving at!
The moments of prayer in which I hand everything over to Him are soon replaced by worries and a seemingly unquenchable panic that I am, and never will be, good enough, beautiful enough, strong enough, smart enough, thin enough, well enough, acceptable enough, clever enough...
If I am really quiet and still,
If I close my eyes and try to see through these threats, these poisoned arrows of doubt,
I hear a still, small voice telling me one thing...
How do I let go?
How do I rest in His arms, follow His commands?
If at first you don't succeed,
And try again.
(And have a lemon cookie with a cup of Earl Grey tea. That helps too.)