I’m really starting to have my patience tested. I’m notoriously not the best at waiting – something I’ll be the first to admit, and so being told to go home by your doctor, with no sense of when/what/where in relation to your next steps is really taking its toll.
After all, it’s not like I’m waiting around for an amazing birthday surprise party or fun trip abroad. No, I’m waiting to be referred to an eating disorder clinic. Nowhere near as appealing huh…
The worst part is that this constant nothingness means I lack purpose. It plays into my anorexia as day after day I am able to rigidly control what I consume as I obsess over minute detail, being unable to occupy an unfulfilled mind.
Another aspect of all this that seems despairingly unfair is the fact that I want to recover. In fact, I am desperate to recover. I want to sprint to the top of a mountain (not that I could in this current state) and scream – alerting every bird, worm and unassuming passer-by that ‘I WANT TO RECOVER!!!!!’ Yet, reflecting on this empowering image, I in fact feel akin to a deflated balloon as I am also aware I cannot recover alone. I have been living too long under my own strict regime that acts as a comfort blanket, sheltering me from a lack of control and panic and so intervention is crucial for my progress. Intervention that is coming yes…but when? I wish I knew.
Let me know if any of you had to go through this torment too. This is, I hope, is one of the worst stages of recovery – being a pawn in the system’s game (oo, that sounded more sinister than intended – cue evil laughter sound effects). Meanwhile, all I can do is wait, and wait, and guess what!? Oh yeah, wait…
Yours sincerely, the flightless bird, losing patience while awaiting wings.