Do you feel that your recovery is elusive, she asked me today?
No. My response is unconvincing. I am more fun. I'm proud of the progress I've made.
I am interested in how you phrased it, she responds. I'm not interested in how others see you. I am only interested in how you see you.
I am lonely. I celebrate these victories (the word smothers me with it's acknowledgement.) Maybe they're not even accomplishments at all.
I am proud of you, she says. It is courageous to live without your eating disorder. It takes tremendous courage to live in this new way. To live differently.
It's not courageous. My reply is automatic. Defensive. Guilty. I feel the words escape my lips with defiance.
Wow, you're great at taking compliments. Did you know that?
Why should I be lauded for being human? Undeserving? For exerting effort in those things which others do gleefully, gratefully, if at all?
I am alone financially. Spiritually. Emotionally. My triumphs are my own, buried beneath the heaps of hyperbole in my words and actions. My successes are rote, Unworthy of celebrating. My achievements (should I be presumptuous to attribute meaning to them at all) exist only to shine light on my previous failures - the undoing of the damage selfishly inflicted.