When Does It Get Easier?

Today I was fishing through some old letters and past-loved items, and I came across a book, made for me several years ago by a lover of mine. I have been eating and digesting, feeling, sleeping, and healing for almost two weeks, and my recovery seems to be progressing. My brain and my heart are waking up - and so when I stumbled upon this small book of memories, I found myself sobbing over its contents. Now that I am no longer numb with starvation, I am experiencing emotion more deeply and widely than I have in several years. I found myself mourning a broken relationship long put to rest - my heart heavy with past love and commitment, broken hopes of a future, and of my own unravelled identity.

Even now, as I sit near my beautiful window, looking out on a glorious June evening and hearing the birds sing the sun to sleep, my heart is still holding this deep sadness - a sadness that birthed out of nothing sensible or logical - a sadness that should have been put to rest several years ago. I finally curled up with my mom, heavy heart and all, and simply asked, "when does it get easier? Do broken hearts ever heal?"

Her answer - and the truth, I think - is that it might not ever be "gone" entirely. The residue is there, under our fingernails and in our boxes of old letters and postcards and ticket stubs. The fingerprints left on our hearts and pillows and identities don't ever really leave us... they just kind of fade and become part of the background in our ever changing, active lives.

I'm thinking the same is true for this eating disorder. Because even after two weeks of fairly consistent eating and healthy behavior, I am still feeling anxious panic as I sit here listening to the birds. I would be lying if I said that I wasn't in a deep battle with my body, wanting so badly for it to be thinner and more perfect. I've gotten much better at sitting in this state of imperfection - without acting in a maladaptive way - but I still hate the imperfection. I am eating, but not loving it. I'm not throwing up, but I still think about it and dream up diets and plans and ways to lose the weight I am gaining so steadily.

So after two weeks of refeeding, I keep thinking, "shouldn't I be over this? When will this finally get easier?" But maybe it is like our old loves... the pain fades, but the sadness stays. And I may never be the same. The residue will be there, and I will probably stumble across books or pictures and cry over what was and what could have been. Why couldn't she love me? Why didn't she choose me? Why can't I love myself? Why can't I love all of the imperfect pieces of this life instead of tolerating them and hating myself for failing to fix them? What would my life have been like had I not had this eating disorder to battle? Where would I be now? How much time have I wasted?

I thought at some point that these questions would be silent - no longer a refrain haunting the recesses of my brain. But maybe that isn't realistic. Maybe the best we can hope for is that it fades to a quiet hum... something to remind us of where we've been and what we've learned. And for that, maybe we're lucky. Our lives are littered with residue - lessons learned, loves lost, battles fought, and wars won. Without the residue, would we still be who we are? My guess is, no. But for today, I would like the residue to hold less sadness and be a bit lighter... because when it all piles up, it's difficult to see the way out.

And does it ever really get easier? Will I be able to sit here someday and only listen to the sun hitting the horizon... without the underlying panic of what I've eaten for dinner or the sadness from past loves tainting my thoughts? I cling to the hope that I will... and that all of this "residue" has some greater teaching and purpose waiting for me.

In that, I will place my faith tonight. Maybe this pain and sadness has a purpose. Maybe it is tracing in me a path toward something brighter and more meaningful. Maybe it's good that the residue only fades, and never quite disappears... like a trail of bread crumbs leading me back to myself... back home...