It started the Monday before last. I got a promotion at work, and started a seven week training class for the new position on the 16th. Understandably, my work routine was changed to fit with the schedule of the trainers and the rest of the people in my class. My hours were changed from 6:30-3p to 8-4:30p, I had to leave my own little cubicle for a classroom, and like most classes sat with my peers in the room. Can you spot yet the thing that turned my world into a hurricane?

It was sitting. For most people the act of sitting all day is a normal part of life, for me though it's something I dislike intensely. The longer I sit the more lethargic I become, the more muddled my mind turns, and the more my restless leg syndrome (yes that is a real thing) acts up. It also feels like every couple of months I read some new information supporting the fact that sitting all day is just not healthy. For me sitting is uncomfortable. For my disorder it's another thing all together. I think I've mentioned that one of my disorder behaviors was to stand as much as I possibly could because it burns more calories than sitting. Post Mercy I have gotten better at sitting down when I am tired or when I feel like it would be comfortable to do so, but I still do stand much of the time because I get restless otherwise.

I knew going into this training class would be difficult, but what I didn't know was that she would kick into overdrive and cause me to just about lose my mind...again. The whole experience felt weird beyond belief. During the day my mind would be occupied with everything I was learning, but the whole time there was a constant racing chant in the background that I needed to move, move, move. In my chair I would fidget as much as I possibly could without attracting to much attention, and the moment we broke for lunch, every 15 minute break, I was walking. Through every hallway, up and down every flight of stairs, I never stopped moving. With a later start to my day I had time to take a walk up and down Maine street before work, and another longer one after. A couple weeks ago I had started doing some light yoga a couple of times a week, but now I needed to do it every day. And from the moment I got home to when I went to bed I was standing.

That still didn't seem like enough though. She was telling me that each hour I sat was another pound gained. I felt so huge that the idea of eating food made me sick. I knew I couldn't skip meals, wouldn't skip meals, but she talked me into letting a few things disappear off my meal plan. She, always so obsessed with calorie counts, constantly hounded me with each food choice I made and there were several meals that by some would just be considered a snack.

The combination of extra moving, less calories (aka energy and nourishment), and non-stop chanting left me both wired and exhausted by the end of work each day. She shut up once I left the building but that was only because she was gearing herself up to hit me with a tsunami of negativity and wretchedness the second I walked in my front door. Each day I felt weaker and more unsure of my self-worth. Each hit made it harder to stand up to her demands.

What is almost the weirdest, craziest part in this whole tale, is that I had no idea how bad I was getting. I knew things were tough, but the fact that I was sinking close to relapse failed to register in my brain.. It wasn't until Wednesday when I was talking to my therapist and she said to me "Kelly, how is this not a relapse" that reality hit me, and when it did I was scared to death.

The last couple of days have been better. I talked to the trainers at work and I am now standing during the day. It's amazing how much more I am able to focus on what I'm supposed to be learning with her keeping quiet. I have gone back to eating all of my meal plan, which is good because I did lose weight this past week. I am still walking but there is no desperate need to do so behind it, and while I'm being told to do yoga every day I am not listening. The fact that other people know also helps. I've had at least one person asking me what I've eaten every day since my last post and that helps, because I want to give them the honest answer that I am eating what I need to.

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Due to some reaction I got with my last post I also want to talk about why I write and share the things I do. I do not write to make it seem I'm miserable all the time, or that things are so depressing I hate my life. I don't write to cause my family and friends extra worry and angst. I don't write to make anyone feel sorry for me.

I love my life, and it's precisely for that reason that I feel as bad as I do. This fight sucks more than I can say, but if I didn't do it than my life wouldn't exist much longer. I know that giving in will only lead to a different kind of misery, one that will never lead to happiness and to  peace. I know that even if there are times that I so badly want to listen to what she is telling me to do, moments that happen several times every day, that I can't because what she wants is to kill me. I'm living with this shame, pain, confusion and sadness now because I know that someday it will lead to me back to joy and self acceptance. I just have to keep fighting. I can't do that though without ways to rid my body of the never ending lava of burning emotions and writing allows me to do just that.

 I write so my friends and family, especially those who live far away, know that I am being honest about my recovery. I lied to a lot of people for a long time, and I want them to know the bad so that when I say I've had a good day, or week they know I'm not just saying that. I want them to be able to believe me, I want them to be able to trust me again. I write about my close brush with relapse, so when that day finally does come that I say I am recovered, however far off that day may be, they know I'm really am.

I write and share way more than I am comfortable doing. I second guess myself every time I press 'post'. I know I have family and friends who will love me no matter what, but I know that there is a very good chance that what I put here might scare a few people off. It is scary to let people who, before seeing this blog might have thought I had my life pretty put together, realize that I really am a crazy mess. It might make some wish they didn't know me. I do know that if that is the case than I probably am better off without in my life, but that knowledge doesn't make the possibility of rejection hurt any less.

I don't let those doubts stop me from sharing though because if there is even the slightest possibility that my words could help others out there struggling with an eating disorder feel less shame and isolation, my own shame and fear of others seeing this side of me does not matter. If what I write helps even a single person seek help and find freedom any humiliation and embarrassment I may feel will be worth it. As a society we have a really jilted viewpoint on how to handle mental disorders. Our culture encourages people suffering to hide their pain and put on a brave face. We want to focus only on the good things and gloss over the darkness. But by doing that we alienate people when they need others most. Refusing to face the reality of what they are experiencing just adds to their burden and causes more harm than good. It is not good to dwell in negativity and to close ones eyes to the beauty of this earth, but we also have to allow people time to work through life when it beats them down. To do that we have to not shy away whenever the truth of their pain knocks on our door.

There is no doubt that I'm a mess right now, I am not fully recovered, not even remotely close. I promise though that I am doing the absolute best that I can to get there. Before all of this started I was a happy person. I accepted who I was, I loved food, was more or less OK with how I looked,  I didn't care what others thought of me, and I wasn't thrown off kilter by a small change in my daily routine like having to sit. I know I will find my way back there, but I also know that it will take a very long time. So I am asking you to please not give up on me, I will make it worth your while in the end.