Ok just to clarify, in terms of explaining issues associated with eating disorders, 'well' is problematic.
Dictionary definitions of 'well' explain it as a state of being in good health (this is it's use as an adjective, there are of course many other uses, but I don't want to get too much into the etymology of the word or to fall into a linguistics rabbit hole)
But a state of being physically well and mentally well don't always fit together for me. So what is me being 'well' to friends, family and healthcare types, probably and almost always feels horrendous to me. I feel very far from well....well. ..When I'm well. And so, despite my lovely ED lady knowing that I am not well, the fact that I am physically and comparatively well is once again recorded in my medical notes.
Let us all rejoice as the previously skinny girl fills the spaces in between and skims BMI 18.
I went to my appointment and was weighed. I have neither gained nor lost. which is in itself painful as most days I'm on what the rest of the world thinks of as a highly restricted allowance of calories. Yet this body is used to it and my battle is in vain. Not an inch of space had been gained. The spaces and gaps that I've filled remain obscured by flesh.
And a constantly surprising amount of boobs. I poke them a lot. They are very comical. Flappity floppy floop. squishy squash. bizarre. Before the first round of great weight loss, I believe I had 36 (possibly 38?) DD cups. I recall they were a bit of a nuisance at times (they were the first bit of me that grew, they broke the front of a bra in two during an English grammar A level class, they so very nearly escaped a rather lovely turquoise silk formal top whilst I was on stage competing in Timmy Mallet's "Mallet's Mallet" ...Yes I won, Yes alcohol was involved...) but I sure as heck don't recall prodding them so much or feeling a bit like someone stuck two fleshy mountains on my chest just for the lulz.
So yeah, those are there, just taking up space. As are thighs and belly. What I cannot stand is my arms. The space between my arms and my sides has diminished. I live in the spaces in between. There goes my habitat.
Funnily enough, myself and Tim were talking about religion and how a 'god' is different things to different people. Mine is not a classic human type character with super powers, my 'god' is a bit Gaian. My god is this planet and all it's fascinating interconnections. My god lies in the space in between. The space in between thoughts, between atoms, my god lies in the nothing between something. I'm sure I'll think of a better way to put this one day.
I only realised today though that I've described my soul, purpose and identity as inhabiting the spaces where flesh should be (instead of defining my self by what is there i'd rather define by what is not) and I describe my approximation of some kind of spirituality and awareness of the universe as a whole, through its existence in the places in between. It is the something made of nothing.
Bloody hell. That is really not as succinct as I'd like.
Back to the appointment. I'm well. I'm commended for 'winning the battle to stay well'. This is not true, I merely obsessed over the battle and just sort of went 'meh'. I just got lazy over my weight loss battle. Shamefully so. I am not well on my terms.
And as ED Dr filled in the referral for group therapy for OCD (this could be extremely extremely interesting) I broke down in snotty sobs. I found it so hard to actually say the words that I did. They were ripped from my heart and forced through my mouth. And once they were said they had so much gravity. They made the concept so frightfully real. Another thing in the future I cannot rely on.
"I, ... I...... my god..... I suppose it's likely I'll remain much like this. ... I suppose I'll never..... never.... be properly thin again"
And that hurts. It's as though it should be a thing that I can default to. But I fear I've lost it. I lack the strength and resilience to reach such thinness, to reacquaint myself with the delicious spaces inbetween.
What if I never touch them again? What if I cannot? It makes my heart ache.
I cried and cried so hard.
And fuck those nasty NHS tissues.
TBC
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