I want to improve my diet.
What a phrase to use on a blog like this. A word, in fact, that sometimes causes those that fear for the disordered to lose their minds. And in these present times, the choices of the “right diet” are a million and one, making it impossible to trust very little about what might possibly work well with the disordered.
For me, I have sustained an essence of “recovery” over the past few years by adhering to no diet what-so-ever.
The lie that my disorder tells me is that I am aware of the limitations of my body, and in knowing that, I am able to approach my sustenance based on what I feel like will get me by. The fact that I just watched a video on the many disordered who have died too young recently, a video that included a girl that I was friends with and went to treatment with, proves that it is a lie I tell myself.
Because as I smoke endless amounts of tobacco and pot, swallow pills to calm me down and make me hungry, and rise to a state of instant panic at whether or not the item that I am grabbing is helpful or harmful, I know that I need to improve my “diet” because if I don’t, I could very well be on a video like that too.
It’s not a food thing. It’s a lifestyle thing. I’ve said it for years and this blog has done little but prove to me that I am only documenting my procrastination of doing anything about my lifestyle.
It makes me sad.
I have a very close friend right now who has constant joy. She shines with joy. She has a continuous laughter and there are very few who aren’t instantly drawn to her happiness.
Knowing there are people like her make me not so sad. And help me remember that even if I never wind up with that same instinctual joy, I will always be able to see it and seek it and die trying to feel it too.