When W, the T, gave me the ultimatum: to gain the last of my weight by Sept 1st, or else I'm fired, I was in shock. Aghast. Floored. It seemed like such an overly dramatic way to get me to gain a little weight. I mean, couldn't she look at me and see how fine I was? How, like, big?
So I spent awhile being mad. Like really mad.
And then I spent a little while (okay a long while) being really scared. Because I know that I can't maintain my recovery YET without my trusty T and D. I was terrified of losing them because I know that at this point, without them, I would very likely slowly lose weight and end back up at square one: severe anorexia. I understood that I stood to lose a lot more than just my therapist if she fired me.
But after I got mad, and then I let myself feel the fear, I got ready. I prepared myself to do whatever it took to reach my goal weight. I readied myself for some really awful days ahead, and a lot of discomfort and anxiety about gaining weight, then just decided, quite simply, to do it.
And so I am. And you know what? IT'S SO HARD. I've cried a lot. I've been in physical pain because of how much I have to eat (and drink Boost) to gain. But I'm so glad I'm doing it.
Because by reaching my goal weight in a couple short weeks, I also stand to gain a lot more than just being able to keep my treatment team: I'll gain the confidence to know that I can do this recovery thing without having to go inpatient. I think I'll gain a little self-respect and hey, maybe even a little self-esteem. And I'll finally prove to myself and everyone else that I can do this. That I can stop the games and the bull crap and just commit to recovery. And that feels so freaking good.
So, three weeks ago, when I was given this ultimatum, I was cursing my therapist for her pure, unadulterated EVIL. But now? Now I think I might just be thanking her for her genius.
Funny how that works, eh?