Whack-A-Mole, Wicked Witch of the West and Happiness

“In the midst of hate, I found there was in me, an invincible love. In the midst of tears, I found there was within me, an invincible calm. I realized that throughout it all, that…In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer. And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something stronger – something better, pushing back.”

~Albert Camus

There is a reason (many, actually) why I have embarked on this journey back to my old self of 5 years ago,  whom I left standing at the corner of life as I knew it, and the detour I took to the place where someone, unbeknownst to me, removed the sign that read, "Bridge Out".  

It was time to stop the free-fall that ensued from crashing through the flimsy barrier of free will,  a dimly-lit passage lined with demons heckling me daily, that this was what I deserved.  That the only way out of the guilt, shame and pain was to continue the fall until I reached the bottom where eventually everything (everything) would end.

The stage of recovery that I am in presently, getting traction with feeling the feelings that I have been numbing or avoiding for so long, brings them all back with such extreme intensity for some of us, that we are vulnerable to relapse.  This is due in part, to the ability to be lucid and clear-thinking.  Being able to pay attention.  One has to brace themselves for it because with a cruel last look over her shoulder, Olivia's visage trots in each trauma one by one, as a last-ditch effort to gain her place back inside your soul.  

But this entry is about the best part of recovery so far.  Along with the pain that I didn't trust myself to manage, I also numbed the happy moments, not believing or even caring that I could participate in this emotion.  

I didn't deserve to and Olivia saw to that.  Anything (or anyone) that brought me even the smallest amounts of happiness threatened my eating disorder like fire to the Wicked Witch of the West, inciting Olivia's strongest efforts to cancel out its effects, digging in more fiercely to hold her ground.

We are told in treatment that complete recovery from Eating Disorders is possible, unlike that of drug or alcohol addiction, where many believe that once one is an addict, they must live out the rest of their days in recovery.  

The Psychiatric Doctor at Mercy explained it like this.  "Remember that rebel boyfriend you had back in high school or college...the one who was completely opposite of everything you ever really wanted but there was something about him that you just couldn't resist?  Then, when it ended, you thought you would never, ever, ever get over him until one day you woke up and thought, what the hell was I thinking????"  Recovery from an Eating Disorder is like that.  After successfully abstaining from all Eating Disorder behaviors for 3-5 years, people who once suffered can enjoy life like a normal person again, completely free from the illness.  

But it is hard work.

I'm not the slightest bit scared of hard work.

The very best part of this stage of recovery is that even though it is a little like "Whack-A-Mole" sometimes, with triggers lurking around every corner, I have lately been able to experience true and genuine happiness not only as I once did before, but even more intensely as I work through each trauma, releasing the masking pain that once served Olivia in stealing my right to it.

I have been able to truly be present, and experience the treasure that my daughters are to me.

I have deepened my relationship with my own mother, learning that allowing her to care for me conjures strength, not weakness.

I have embraced the gift of a quiet weekend, without the guilt of  "wasting" the time.  

I am learning patience.  (I know.  It's true.)

I have learned to acknowledge moments of extreme pain and sadness and to ride their waves  of crest and falls, without judgement, without action, peacefully letting them take their course.  Gaining the confidence that I can survive them with each success.

I have experienced the love of others who have reached out to me in a selfless and genuine desire to carry me over the rough patches, when I couldn't maneuver the path alone. And I welcomed it.

I remembered how much I freaking love to cartwheel.  Probably my truest and purest sign of elation.

I can handle what comes my way with confidence.  With capability.  With dignity.

I can look in the mirror in the morning and think I look pretty.

I believe that I deserve to be happy.

I believe that I deserve to feel love.  And that love will come to me again one day.

I can eat pizza with greasy pepperoni.  (And ice cream for dessert).

I can accept a compliment.

I have hope.

I love my life. <3