On the one hand I'm doing well...

But then there's always that other hand and it winds up slapping me in the face.

Things were going well for a while. The eating disordered thought had significantly decreased. I was acting less on impulse and emotion. I was actually taking note of my emotions and doing something constructive with them. And then -- I met with the nutritionist.

Maybe if I didn't have an eating disorder, I wouldn't have received the things she said the way I did. And I hold nothing against the woman, as she clearly knows what she's doing as a nutritionist for women with PCOS, and she is working with my outpatient team to make sure everyone's on the same page -- but she pissed me off.

Changing exchanges and saying that I don't need to drink juice but if I do to add water to it. First thought -- well, that's disordered. That's something we were forbidden to do at the residential program. And fruits and juices were encouraged! Milk and yogurt are clearly a dairy and can be exchanged as a protein. But not in her book -- it counts it as a carbohydrate. And that means -- according to this new deal she's got me working with here -- that I've been going days and days without protein (thinking I was getting sufficient amounts from soy milk and yogurt) only to find out that protein and fats are my friends and that I need to limit the starches even more.

Yeah. Angry.

But mainly sad because it brought back old memories -- bad ones -- of my father telling me not to eat this because I didn't need it, or not to eat that because of my weight. And she couldn't have known that so I don't fault the lady at all, it's just, I think had she been a bit more mindful that I'm an ed patient first and pcos patient second, that maybe things would have been different. I left her office resolved to do better as far as my eating habits go, but just a few days afterward the feelings I had surfaced in my old behaviors because I didn't deal with them as they came up. Funny how that happens.

I started skipping more meals and I hadn't felt guilty about just plain old eating in a really long time and then that came up when I felt like I had something that I shouldn't have had (because of the conversation with the nutritionist). And that guilt resulted in a purge.

First one in a really long time. Dare I say a month? Hmmm. It saddens me that all the hard work can vanish so quickly. That I can be in the exact same hole I was in two months ago and desperately clinging to the eating disordered thoughts against all reason. Dixie and I talked a bit today about why I continue to choose to believe in the eating disorder despite everything I've learned and I had no answer.

I just know that I do. I wish she understood that although I appreciate the past year and a half and I know that it's saved my life, that some mornings I wake up and absolutely hate my body. I hate it. I hate myself because I blame all my failings on this one thing and it's hard to live with that. It's hard to know that I could do something about it (like skipping a meal here or there) because it just makes me feel better to know that I'm not making things worse (even though I know I am). Being in recovery with an eating disorder is like living in a world full of paradoxes. I know the truth and yet I don't live it. I try and yet if I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror during a bad moment in my day -- logic is tossed to the wind. Dixie said I lose all cognitive function when I'm in my body loathing moments. Maybe. But I want her to understand that it breaks my heart too when I slip up. I'm just as frustrated and disappointed in myself as she is. I just also feel, for lack of a better word...better, better about my body, better about myself, better about my life if I'm empty inside. Even if it's only for a moment and it never lasts, because it never does.

I wish I had someone to talk to who doesn't think I'm choosing to continue along with an eating disorder. I wish I wasn't always playing defense.