"Overwhelmed" doesn't even begin to cover it. I am moving this week- most of my stuff sits in an apartment 500 miles away, and I'll be joining my possessions on Friday. I want to say that I am excited, happy, relieved...but this feels oh-so-wrong. I moved away from London for very valid reasons at the time, and moved to somewhere I believed would offer some different opportunity. To summarise, it's been a disaster from the word "go". My original reasons for moving, in hindsight, stemmed purely from fear. I was running. Not *to*, but *from*. I've been running ever since, and now am going back where potentially, I could be forced to face those demons once again if I don't tread carefully.
I know how the system works. Scotland has been a bit of a minefield for me, New York even more so. I've been out of my depth when it comes to certain areas, and it's shown. The stress eats away at me, little by little, until it has eroded half my body and half my brain and what's left is a vacant shell where my soul once lived.
London NOW feels threatening. I know it too well. I know where the obstacles are, and am a "pro" at avoiding them. I'm talking in terms of medical treatment here. I know the system better than I know the streets. Where to live, where not to live. When to show up to appointments, when to cancel. This could well work in my favour, unless my negativity is running the show, and knowing me/my patterns/my eating disorder, it's oh-so-easy to become a statistic when 1) stress from moving and college starts to become consuming, and 2) I know how to avoid doctors/treatment if I choose to.
Scared because I know that things aren't going well. I eat my oatmeal, smile, say "good morning" to my family and go off on my adventures for the day. I pretend everything is fine. I want to go to college, I want to see my friends, I want to go back to dancing, I want to be healthy, I want LOTS of things.
But really, I don't. I don't want it ENOUGH. I am scared of eating, scared of breaking my rituals, scared of giving up my obsessions. My heart thumps erratically in my chest, my heart pounding against what feels like a boa constrictor around it. Every breath hurts. I'm tired, I'm dizzy, everything hurts. It's hard to think straight because I'm so exhausted, cold, confused.
I feel like a wimp for 1) feeling like this, and 2) verbalising it. I have said it on my blog, but I would never say it out loud. How weak of me to not be able to take the blows I throw myself. How pathetic of me to complain about something purely self-inflicted.
And yet I don't know if it IS self-inflicted. I'm not doing anything overly disordered. My body is perhaps just weakened, or maybe everyone feels like this and it's normal after all?
It's been a draining last 24 hours. I'm sure I'll feel differently tomorrow. If not, I can mention it to my therapist, who will confirm that yes, I am indeed, absolutely fine and should shut the hell up and get over myself.
eleven months old.
1 month ago