Long time no write. I'm trying to remedy that. Blogging is hard, because I always vascillate between using a blog as a stream-of-conciousness warm up exercise when I spill everything that's running through me, or something I plan out better. Maybe a combination? A compromise? This morning it's going to be stream of consciousness because I need to write about something and if I think too hard about it I won't do it.
Is one depressed because they have another illness, or do they have another illness because they're depressed? The demons of my eating disorder have followed me in and out of the years since I was fifteen; they sometimes abate, but never, never, are they gone. I've found that it completely depends on what's going on in my life. Or not. Ha! Take that, huh? Maybe everything's amazing, maybe you're surrounded by love and comfort and possibility, and something in you, something in your pea brain, is bound and determined to destroy you.
That's all very dramatic language for something that will not, in fact, destroy me. I know too much, have too much practice in recovery, to let it destroy me. I've been in treatment, residential and outpatient. I've come around so many corners, dug out so many nightmares and skeletons and aired them for anyone to take a look at and examine, psychiatrists and psychologists and MD's and nurses and family and friends. I have been seen at my lowest, my . most rock bottom, and not just once. I am often nearly overcome by the guilt I feel; why am I doing this to the people who love me? Haven't I come further than this? Aren't I mentally more stable than this? At the end of the day, there is always a battle I need to fight, different tactics I need to employ, and it is never the same on any given day. Some things stay the same; I take my handful of pills every night before I go to bed. That's about it...other days I meditate, I'm a yogini, I'm a Child of God, I'm a responsible mother who's Staying In The Moment. I don't know what will work from day to day, what will keep me from using symptoms that make me crazy and exhausted.
I've been thinking about blogging my way through one of Geneen Roth's books. A change has to happen; I have too much to do, too much to breathe in and feel and love. I am now thirty years old. Will I ever recover? I don't know. But I have to keep working, and working means recovery.