I always thought I was good with change. I like newness. I like changes of scenery. I can adapt.
People with eating disorders are supposed to fear change. They're supposed to live by rules and habits and plans. I thought I had busted that cliche. After my first day back at college, I only now just realized that I'm only externally good at it, that on the inside my reflexive response to change is to cling to my eating disorder. Out of nowhere, sitting at a friend's house, the thought now I can really restrict and lose weight hit me, and then these thoughts of scales and skipped meals cascaded from nowhere, and it was simultaneously so depressing and so alluring. The thought of all the things I can't stand to lose from getting sick (relationships, trust, hope, stability, happiness) made me cry, and yet the thought of going back to it is almost intoxicating.
I've had a good day full of friends and old faces. I'm not some complete sadsack at the moment. It's just -- oh my god, does this ever get tiring. I wouldn't wish an eating disorder on a single soul.