I think I walked six miles today. That includes walking to the library and back. That includes the seven laps I did at the track this morning, and the long walk with Puzzle, too. This is not unusual. Recently, I have walked more like ten miles in a day. But after an injury? Damn stupidity.
Yes, stupidity. That sums it up. I did all the right things for my ankle. Except I didn’t rest it. By the end of today, it was swollen. I suppose it may have been swollen anyway, given that it is sprained. I took some ibuprofen just now, and iced it, and have it elevated somewhat, as elevated as I can get it and still type here.
It doesn’t hurt. It didn’t hurt all day, pretty much. I had to be careful with it, but then again, slanted sidewalks have always bothered me.
So, what’s the reason why I was so stupid? Why was I so anxious to exercise today? I gained weight, and couldn’t deal with it, and still can’t. I don’t know why I gained weight, and I’m panicking. So I hit the track and burned calories, like I did last week. It’s the nature of this illness to fall apart over things like this. It’s the nature of this illness for the sky to come crashing in over every pound. It’s the nature of this illness to find oneself praying the the scale each morning as if it were the one who decided whether one lived or died. And many do die.
Will my body ever forgive me for the cruelties I have laid upon it? I have starved it. I have put it at risk. I have worn it out. I have scared it. I have threatened it. I have poisoned it. I have made cuts in its skin, deliberately, years ago. I have beaten it in so many ways. Never mind what I have done to my mind.
The body forgives. The body heals. I do think the body remembers, though, but to what extent I am not certain. You hear about people who recover from eating disorders and live normal lives afterward.
Some things do not heal. You can’t bring back the lost years. You can’t replace the energy and effort you spent fighting this damned eating disorder. And you can’t bring back the relationships you ruined.
What can I bring back? I don’t know. When was the last time I was okay? I’m not sure. Maybe 1979.
You can’t go back. You can’t undo it. Once you start the journey, you can’t turn around, because time always moves forward.
I don’t remember ever being okay, actually. My parents force-fed me when I was a child. I remember this. I’m not trying to get weird by saying this, only that it wasn’t right from day one. I remember food being shoved into my mouth when I was in a high chair. Spinach, spinach, spinach. Lotsa that. Open sesame. In goes the spoon. Swallow.
I’m surprised I actually like cooked spinach. Probably the only reason I don’t mind it is cuz it’s low calorie. Maybe it was creamed spinach they were giving me. Now that I do not like and will not eat.
The only kind of frozen vegetable I have in the house, actually, is frozen spinach, so that was what I was using to ice my ankle until I bought the ice bead thingy the other day. Frozen spinach worked fairly well, but not as well as frozen peas would have worked.
So while I sit here and type, it seems that the swelling has gone down. My body has forgiven. For now. Let’s see how it goes tomorrow. And tomorrow, I hope that I can forgive myself, too. I hope I can accept my body at whatever weight it’s at.
I get weighed tomorrow at the doctor’s. I hope I can just step on the scale and not make an issue of it. I hope I can be cooperative and stand facing away from the scale so I won’t see how much I weigh. That is the agreement. I hope I am honest. I know I will be. Because that, too, is the agreement. And I got tired of lying. That got old real fast. My T has told me that she will not hospitalize me because I have a decent attitude.
Those weren’t the words she used, though. But I think she has faith in me. I think I have faith in me, too. I may be totally stupid, but at least I recognize my stupidity. I even laugh at myself a little. Laughter is a good sign, or so I’ve heard. I suppose there’s someone, the God of Eating Disorders, who really gets a kick out of people afflicted with ED’s, and has a good laugh all the time. And if I can see through that god’s eyes, I can laugh, and laugh, and laugh. Because if you can’t laugh at yourself, how on earth can you laugh at anything, anything else?
So really, walking around the track seven times this morning, injured, was that dumb or what? I must have looked silly to the God of Eating Disorders, walking around the track in the freezing cold this morning, burning calories because of what the Scale God has told me over the past week. While walking around the track, was I laughing at myself? Well, sorta. I did see the humor in the situation. My body probably didn’t find it funny, though.
Body, forgive me. Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me. I wish I could love you again. I wish I could comfort you and hold you like you were my child and feed you–not force feed you–but feed you lovingly and with care and respect. I wish I could dry your tears and tell you how much I love you and reassure you that no harm will ever come to you, ever, ever again. I am not the best at this but I can try. At least that.
Please, body, give me another chance.