Being Pulled Behind the Struggle Bus

So, I'm not totally sure what to put here. My bestie and soul sister from another mister,  Liz, convinced me that I should start a blog to chronicle the crazy of my life. It's been helpful for her, so I figured I should try it.

I've been in recovery from my eating disorder for a few months. I officially entered treatment in February after having a massive mental breakdown after working 40+ hours a week as a therapist, going through a break up, and drinking to the point of intoxication at least 4 times a week. Going to treatment was one of the most terrifying things I've ever done, mostly because I have always been a "stuffer," that person who says, "I'm fine" with a smile of their face but dying on the inside. I just couldn't keep up the facade anymore. So I cracked. I got on a train to St Louis and walked away from my life in Milwaukee as I knew it. I left my job, my friends, everything to try and put myself back together again.

When I first went to treatment,  I only had planned on going for 2 weeks on a medical leave to return to Milwaukee and go back to work. I was doing 6 hours of therapy, 7 days a week. After about a week, I knew I couldn't go back to Milwaukee, maybe not ever again. So, I transitioned into 10 hours of therapy, 7 days a week to get more intense treatment.

Looking back on all of that now, it seems like such a blur. I honestly have a hard time remembering a lot about that time.  But with where I'm at now, I wish I could escape back to that bubble sometimes.

I have been significantly struggling in my recovery lately. I was recently promoted to a new position at my job, which has been chaotic to say the least.  It has also allowed me to skip meals and stay so busy that I "haven't had time to eat." My rational part of my brain calls bullshit on that,  but that irrational ED part is so overwhelming that I have no idea what to do lately.

"You don't want to go back to treatment, do you?"

I can just hear the voices of my friends and family saying that to me in my head. That omnipresent threat helps to keep me in check most days, but I still wonder if I'm slipping away back into ED. Back to my safety zone. Back to my comfort. Back to the world where I don't have to deal with feelings. Back to nothingness.

"You don't want to go back to treatment, do you?"

No.