Posted by on Aug 18, 2015

54 days | 17 hours | 1 minute | 45 seconds


So… It’s been a while. Two months, just about. But here I am, returning to the blogosphere.

As expected, my new insurance (United Healthcare) didn’t hold out for very long. Of the four to six weeks recommended for partial hospitalization, I didn’t even make it to two. I transitioned to intensive outpatient — 5 meals / 5 program days per week, as opposed to 10 meals / 7 program days per week — although even that looked like it wasn’t going to pan out at first.

Return to hopeBut it did, and I made the transition, though not without a week of food nightmares and bouts of tears. And throughout it all, I’ve been getting reviewed every 3 to 4 (and sometimes 2) days, which brought about a whole new set of stressors.

The insurance situation is too frustrating to write about — I’ll save it for another post. For now, I simply wanted to return to The Middle Ground and give a brief update. (“Brief,” because if I tried to task myself with writing a full post about what I learned/accomplished/discovered/failed at these last two months, I’d probably never be able to bring myself to write it.)

It’s been a strange couple of months. Half of this experience was spent quasi-denying that I’d “actually” relapsed, the other half gradually realizing just how profoundly screwed up I am. (The nicer way to put that is that I gradually realized just how serious some of my mental health issues were and are.) There were moments of painful self-honesty, which were also auspicious moments. It seemed I was finally ready to face my past and present issues head-on and finally, maybe, move on.

We can thank United Healthcare for cutting that short.

But it’s okay — I accept that this process can’t be as clear-cut and neatly contained as I would like it to be. Not only does insurance make that logistically impossible, but the process just doesn’t lend itself to that. So, I’ve been spending these last several weeks digging up the past, examining it, feeling through it, understanding why anorexia resulted from it, and forgiving myself for still experiencing pain when I get too close to my memories. I try to remind myself that I am not “too adult” to grieve childhood losses and traumas — especially because I’d used that time to commit myself to stoicism.

So here I am again. I’m returning to the fight a little wiser, a little sadder, and a little further along in the process. I’ve been re-committed to recovery now for 54 days, 17 hours, 16 minutes, and 18 seconds. Not every one of those days has been symptom-free, nor have I felt truly “committed” on every one of them. But we’re sure as hell not striving for perfection here. The goal is simply to keep moving forward — one day, one hour, one minute at a time.

I’ll write in more detail going forward. For now, I just want thank all of you sincerely for your amazingly kind and encouraging words these last two months. I know that I haven’t been great at responding — when things are tough, I tend to cut off communication and retreat inward (I’m trying to change that, of course). Please know, though, that I read all of your comments and take them to heart. They have meant the world to me.