is time standing still?

I mentioned in an earlier post that I spent some time in an in-treatment facility a few years ago.  At the time, I thought I was going to change my life, to fix myself for good.  (I notice I use/think the word 'fix' a lot.  I just wish someone, something, could fix me.)  Leading up to my decision to go was a low, low period where I was really in the depths of the disorder.  I didn't realize how bad I had let it become until my roommate, my sister, and a close friend held an intervention.  I was shocked, mortified, horrified, insulted, ashamed, indignant.  You name it, I felt it.  But it made me really start to think about how serious my problem was.  So I looked into a few options and decided that I wanted to get away, to really be submerged in healing and recovery.  I learned a lot about myself during my short time there, and I had a lot of successes, but it didn't fix me.  Thousands of dollars.  Imagine the exponential shame with each binge/purge after that.  I flush my money down the toilet, almost literally.

Tonight I want to share some clips from a journal I kept while I was there.  They're pretty raw thoughts; a peek into the frantic/anxious mind of ED.

"I’m really happy with my eating this weekend, although I still don’t like the immediate feeling of very full I feel after every meal, regardless of how much I eat.  Like tonight, I know I ate a lot of carrots and watermelon but not much more than I think is a healthy portion.  But I just feel so full, and it makes me second-guess myself and wonder if I’m eating too much.  Like what if after all this healthy eating I manage to put on weight, if not lose any.  I feel like I’m losing a little bit, but I still despise the tightness of most of the pants I have here.  Why the hell didn’t I pack more jeans that fit right now?  And t-shirts and casual clothes.  Getting dressed every day is annoying."

"I’m nervous for and also looking forward to the session with the dietitian this afternoon.  I’m going to ask to be weighed, and even though it will be after lunch and fully clothed, I’m going to try really hard to accept it.  I keep worrying that I will gain weight because maybe I’m eating too much, but I don’t really want to cut much out, and what if I’m meant to be chubby for the rest of my life."

". . . the last thing I ever want to happen during a binge is someone confronting me about it.  And nothing anyone else can do will bring me out of it, only make me go deeper into the self-doubt, depression and regret.  And then it takes even longer to come out of it."

"I had a session with a counselor and we talked a bit about the way I take on other peoples' emotions and am really sensitive to what other people are feeling.  I also too often project what I think the other person might or could be thinking onto them.  I don’t like to cause unnecessary worry or burden to people but I often assume it will be that without giving them the chance."

It's hard reading through some of my old journals.  Mostly because I'm so frustrated at how little I've changed/grown/progressed.  I'm a smart, educated, successful woman.  I have never been abused or ridiculed, I've had a pretty great life, and I'm not overly sensitive to media images or society's labels of beauty.  Yet I cannot figure this out, I can't fix it, I can't get better, no matter how hard I try.  I keep coming back to it, and with each relapse the sense of failure is compounded.  How many more tries until I get it right?