I'm encompassing all wounds together, whether they be physical, mental, or emotional. For example, I'm still feeling the effects of a car accident that happened last year in August. I don't usually talk about it, I see it as something I have to live with, but the fact is my body is never going to be the same. Time and some effort on my part (like PT) may ease some of the physical pain I feel on a daily basis, but my neck and back are compromised and weaker than before the accident. I broke my leg when I was eight and although I don't feel pain from this injury, it still affects me. People point out at various times that my right foot angles inward when I walk. Yes, thank you for noticing, that is because I broke my leg. The bone may have mended, but my leg isn't the same.
This is the same for the mental and emotional pain we feel. Time doesn't heal those wounds, it may create some distance and a barrier so the pain doesn't feel as raw, but it's still there underneath the scars.
I will always have an eating disorder. I'm not trying to be negative or say recovery doesn't work. Recovery does work. It works to help me cope differently and in a healthier way when life is stressful. Even though I've had moments of feeling okay and maybe (dare I say) good about my body, ED is still there arguing with me. There are days I'm strong and I laugh him away, but there are days that he breaks my spirit and I just want to stay under the covers and never come out again. Even though I haven't purged in months doesn't mean I don't think about doing it, especially more recently with the holidays.
What if I throw up just this once?
We already know where that will lead. It's never just once. In my recovery I've learned that if there is a scale out in the open, I'm going to step on it. It's this immediate knee jerk reaction. Scale equals "hop on and feel like crap, it's your lucky day of self loathing." I have weighed myself recently because the scale was there and we were visiting relatives in Michigan for Thanksgiving and I ate food on a holiday. A great sin indeed... And guess what? I hate the number, what a surprise. I will always hate the number. Even at my lowest weight I hated the number, it was never good enough.
BUT there is hope. Even though time won't erase ED from my existence, it does give me the space and distance I need to put things into perspective. Even though I hated the number I was able to have a coherent, logical and rational discussion with myself. Last year I wouldn't have been able to do that. It would have meant restricting and purging and chewing lots of gum and drinking water like it's going out of style and saying things like, "No thanks, I just ate."
Time may not heal wounds, but it does keep us moving forward and maybe give us a little hope that tomorrow will be better.
