THE CLIMB

They’re everywhere…in my head, on the scale, in my dreams. Lbs, kilos, calories, steps…these numbers are the white noise of my daily life.

Thanks Starbucks for reminding me just how many calories are in that scone I am trying to convince myself to buy and eat (all of it, not a bite or a quarter or a half…the entire 400 calories).

Oh and thanks Fitbit for making it so easy for me to not only track how much energy I expend in a day but to also encourage me to compete with others to see who can walk more in a week.

I am pointing fingers at the tools, but in truth, I don’t need them. I can just look at a food item, any item, and guesstimate the caloric content with laser precision. It could be my party trick, I am so good.

Same thing with respect to how active I am. I just know intuitively. Instead of a spidey sense, I have the Peiky ED sense.

And no matter how hard I try – and I have tried, either out of motivation to get well or sheer exhaustion – I cannot turn it off.

The thing about my eating disorder is that I use these data points to fuel my competitive nature and try to outperform. And performance is gauged by whatever lens I am using on a given day (healthy or anorexic).

If I am in a healthy/recovery mindset, outperforming involves taking more risks, consuming the same amount or more, than the day before. It means being less physically active. It means gaining weight.

But if I am looking at things from my ED perspective, I lower the bar daily with respect to my consumption. It can involve small things like removing a coffee from my routine to removing a food intake from my day. And once you lower the bar, it is extremely difficult to stop yourself from lowering it even further. So it feels nearly impossible to raise it again – unless something dramatic (feeling faint, having heart palpitations, professional intervention) propels you to action.

Every day is a battle. And a positive trend can turn on a dime, without reason or warning, and you have to find the strength to start the climb again. And it gets harder and harder to lift yourself. But I do…and then I don’t…and then I do.

Recovery is hard. It is not linear and it can be discouraging…for me and, undoubtedly, for everyone that loves me. The disorder can be incomprehensible…even when you are in it, when you feel it, and especially when the numbers swirl around you.

I don’t know when or how exactly I will reach the recovered stage. But, I know that when I do, it will be my proudest accomplishment. So I climb…