Letting go of my eating disorder means grieving. It’s a loss. I’m losing my coping mechanism and my support system. I’m cutting out a piece of me, and that’s a wrench, despite it being the right choice.
The excision will leave a hole, and I need to fill it. Whatever I choose has to feel more important than the eating disorder, a solid challenge.
The eating disorder was my world, it’s lies and promises of perfection my everything. That’s hard for crochet to live up to.
(November 5, 2017. Revised July 2021.)
From Famine to Feast. 
Reblogged this on From famine to feast. and commented:
It’s odd that we have to grieve the loss of lousy things, but no one promised life was logical. Recovery is better than staying sick, and grieving the loss of something you’re desperate to let go of seems a small price to pay.
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I’ve found this to be true with alcohol, drug abuse and other self destructive behaviors that I used to cope with life (as I saw it). Maybe the best thing to do is find another coping mechanism that works but isn’t as debilitating. There are a millions ways to escape, some are much better than others.
Have you tried bowling? 🎳🤣🎳
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I’ve become quite fond of rock painting. Also popsicle eating 😁
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I’ve seen you mention your eating disorder as your best friend before and I have to say that is so foreign to me. How can something so detrimental be something so “good?” It’s scary to hear that such can be a reality.
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It’s a strange thing, how we can attach to and come to need things that are detrimental. It’s so much NOT a survival characteristic. It’s odd for sure.
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