Whenever my family went to the beach, I would love climbing sand dunes. As I climbed up the dune, rough plants and pieces of drift wood would cut my feet. If I paused for a second, the sand would start eroding and I would start sliding down. Eventually, I would reach the top! This is what I think recovery feels like. It’s painful. Whenever I “climb” to recovery, my nerves are shredded instead of my feet. If I give into the urges to restrict, binge, or purge, I can slide down so fast. I can see the top, and I want to be there so badly! Why do I have to climb? Why can’t I take a four-wheeler?
I’m able to take my class! As long as I keep showing improvement, I’ll be able to stay in school. I feel so much pressure to get better quicker. I slip-up sometimes, and my mom acts like I’ve slid all the way down the sand dune. She forgets how many steps I’ve taken and how cut-up I am. It makes me feel like I can never be good enough for her. I want her to be proud of me. How can I expect her to do that when I can’t do it myself? Maybe she really doesn’t have much to be proud of from me.