haven't mentioned this in a while, but I'm still on the road

I remember my mom telling me {what felt like} a hundred times, in a very gentle and concerned way, that she thought I had a problem.  I remember blowing her off because I was just being "healthy".  I remember lying to my best friends.  I remember hiding.  I remember stealing food from my roommates because I never bought groceries.  I remember feeling so completely alone.  I remember trying desperately to stay away from the ice cream in the freezer, and then scraping the bottom of the carton with my spoon.

but some things I'm beginning to forget.  maybe that's just part of healing, but sometimes it scares me to forget because there is power in remembering.

journaling would have really helped me out here, but most people don't think to write about the times they ran to the bathroom after they ate the state of Montana.

A few months ago I read Mockingjay, and I read this passage.  with each sentence I felt a pang of familiarity.

While Cressida and Pollux make fur nests for each of us, I attend to Peeta’s wrists. Gently rinsing away the blood, putting on an antiseptic, and bandaging them beneath the cuffs. 

“You’ve got to keep them clean, otherwise the infection could spread, and –”

“I know what blood poisoning is, Katniss,” says Peeta. “Even if my mother isn’t a healer.”

I’m jolted back in time, to another wound, another set of bandages. “You said the same thing to me in the first Hunger Games. Real or not real?”

“Real,” he says. “And you risked your life getting the medicine that saved me?”

“Real.” I shrug. “You were the reason I was alive to do it.”

{oh this makes me so excited about the movie!!  for those of you that haven't read this book, read it.  the first two at least.}

I remembered that I used to be just like Peeta.  I would have to say to myself what my perception was and then decipher {sometimes with the help of others} if that perception was reality.  most of the time it wasn't.  I remembered the times I played this game after I ate a meal or wanted to weigh myself.  this very game sustained me when I stood at the beginning of the road, looking down a dirt path that went up and down and up and down and even when I squinted my eyes and looked real hard at the horizon, I never saw the sign that said, "recovery road ends in .5 miles".  but I just started walking.  and I played that game a lot for a while.  it was a big day when I had more reals than not reals.  

when I first started recovery, I wasn't like most people.  I was DONE.  done being a liar, done hurting myself, done pretending everything was okay, done feeling guilty ALL.THE.TIME. because I knew deep down this was all wrong.  It always felt wrong.  even when the comparisons told me it wasn't, I still knew it was wrong in my bones, and in my irritability, and in my self-loathing.  I was done, and I was willing to do anything and everything to be done for good.  that's not so different than most people in recovery.  what was different is that I felt that same way on day one, and on day two, and then day fifteen, then fifty, on day three hundred and sixty-five, and then today.  

let me tell you, recovery feels SO good.  its so nice to have the ability to make choices again.  it so good to be able to be closer to that horizon and turn around and see how far I've come.  

but DANG its hard. and I've still got a lot of road left.