Why Isn’t Recovery More Fun? It should be. Because, if you consider the shift from torture to freedom, freedom looks a lot more desirable.
Unfortunately, our brains – not the greater, knowing part, but the day-to-day functioning part (I need a neuroscientist to help me explain that better) – do not assess the torture as torture, but more as a way of arranging life for maximum comfort (despite excruciating discomfort) in a threatening world.
The freedom from the setup we have created over the years looks nice to the greater, knowing part of the brain, and it appeals to the battered body as well. In short, we feel tired as hell. And we are so damned hungry. Even those of us without appetites want to eat very badly. Those folks are asking, “Where is my appetite?” because ultimately, they are hungry and have appetites. The torture just has done a very efficient job of burying some appetites underneath layers of denial and abuse.
We embark on recovery journeys when we have reached that point where we think we’ve had enough torture. Eating unrestrictedly are two words that pair magically to those of us who are starved. Furthermore, the idea of sitting down and watching television in our free time, or spending an extra hour in bed in the morning rather than go out and run, appeals to us just as magically.
Therefore, I ask, again, why isn’t recovery more fun?
I say, again: it should be.
However, I find recovery to be so difficult that at times, I fear I cannot go on. In my two years of really trying, that is, ceasing all exercise and eating as unrestrictedly as I can muster (with some failures but many triumphs), I have incurred many physical discomforts, as well as a lot of interior tantrums stemming from the anorexic belief system. That belief system possesses such strength and endurance in my brain that it can sneak in any kind of thought to sabotage the pleasure I may feel at the freedom I have introduced into my life.
At this point, I feel a little angry about the above-mentioned negative bombardment and constant struggles IN RECOVERY. Anorexia provides quite enough torment, so I would rather dispense with all discomfort, as of now. Okay, I realize that I cannot change my brain in one quick “ding!,” but I can look at why I allow some of my thoughts to make me so sad and despondent. A lot of these thoughts belong to the fantasy-warzone of anorexia, so I do not need to entertain them. Plus, I do love eating, and I do love sitting around in my free time, so recovery can be a little more interesting and entertaining, after all, than I have allowed it to be thus far.
Just, er, food for thought!
Music supplied by:
“Firefly,” by Kevin MacLeod of the YouTube studio (sorry I forgot the links to his output); the great “Losing My Religion,” by the even greater REM; the “top REM!” greatness of “Think” by Aretha Franklin; the Scottish “Great Scot, we’ll show you GREAT” greatness of “Don’t You Forget (About Me)” by Simple Minds; and the “You did forget about me, but I’ll forgive you if you use my music in a fantastic YT video,” greatness of “Ain’t No Sunshine,” by Bill Withers; and the ever-enduring greatness of “Your Song,” by the Rocketman himself, Captain Fantastic, Sir Elton John.
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