Recovery forces us to admit, out loud, to an unconditional witness, the secrets we keep, even to ourselves which previously allowed us to justify various dysfunctional behaviors that had once served the function of saving our lives but would eventually kill us, literally, figuratively, or both.
I realized my eating disorder had turned my body into a weapon that visually stated everything I couldn’t say: Look what you’ve done to me. There’s nothing left to take. I’d rather die than face it. I reject the conditions of this world. I don’t deserve nourishment. I’m too small to save you. These secrets are eating me alive. I can’t control this chaos but the willpower of my starvation is impenetrable. You can’t f&k a ghost.
I suppose I had it easy with regard to what I’d seen about myself and yet, I think for each of us, this much is true: our revelations are equal to our devastations.~
Just a little something from a much bigger something.