I am sitting here trying to pull together the words to write this entry and my head is just seriously swirling. I am a raw amalgamation of emotions and thoughts, none of which feel very positive. Today, after months of fighting for insurance I was able to see my therapist again and it was nice, but a little too honest for me. Maybe it was to honest for ed and all of the struggle that has been my life recently. My therapist ganged up on me along with a few other people in my life and agreed that I should go back to IOP treatment for my eating disorder. I totally understand where everyone is coming from, and some very small part of me knows that this is the right thing so I can get better.
In spite of what everyone is actually saying, all I am hearing is that I am a failure. I am a horrible fucking screw up who couldn't hack recovery. Behind every encouraging, "You should do this, it's the best thing", I hear, "Beth you are nothing but a screw up and burden to everyone. Not to mention a fraud." Ugh, this relapse and the push back to treatment is excruciatingly painful, especially because I am the source of my own pain. I am to blame for where I am and the eating disorder that has been my best friend for the past twenty years. To make it worse, when I was discharged from treatment last year I arrogantly said to my doctor that I would never see her again, ever. I am sure as I walked away she could see the fraud that I was and will see it again soon enough.
Oddly enough, in spite of all this anger and self-hatred, right now I feel a closeness to the blind man from John 9. This man was born blind or at least lived with it for the majority of his cognitive existence, meaning it is all he ever knew. He lived a life, hearing what it could be like, but never seeing or truly experiencing what was around him. He heard feet running through the street, but never saw the excitement of a foot race. He heard laughter, but he never saw joy or happiness. He heard the sounds of water, but never saw or appreciated it simple beauty. All of these things in the life around him, he never got to enjoy because of his blindness. He was living in somewhat of a fog, until that day, that day when Jesus used his spit and dirt to heal him. It wasn't extravagant or through some magic show, but more like the instructions off of a shampoo bottle. Spit, mix, apply, rinse, and rejoice. It was so simple, but messy and beautiful all at the same time. It's all messy, healing, recovery, wholeness, etc. It is a messy journey. Sometimes the time between the mud and the rinsing is long and difficult. Sometimes we need to go back to the water and rinse again because we didn't get it all the first time. There is so much recovery grace in that story it is practically jumping off the page. See, for me being a survivor and someone who wanders through recovery I get it. I am the blind man because for twenty years I have lived in this world where I know there are people who can eat a meal and take it in for the nourishment that is gives, but I can only imagine that world. I sit in my blindness, listening and wondering what it is like to experience this freedom that sounds amazing to me. A part of me is excited because I know my savior is near, and I know that he can heal me, he's the one who can make me whole. Then I feel the mud and think something is happening, it is gross, cold, messy and amazing. So here I sit, with mud covered eyes, walking into the waters of recovery, and hoping to be healed, to be made whole
