Some Sorta Fairytale

Nearly 6 years ago I started a blog because I was embarking on an exciting journey toward thinness. I'm pretty sure I was unhappy. Not depressed, just that sort of existential unhappiness that any moderately intelligent privileged person begins to feel when they realise they don't matter much in the scheme of things. In my memory that blog was pretty fleeting. But looking back now for the first time in a long time I realise it documented in detail almost 2 years of a life that was all-consumed with weight and resulted in the development of a full blown eating disorder: The bulimia that took me several years to overcome.

Now I haven't binged or purged for the better part of 18 months. I doubt I will again. But I was prompted to reflect after disclosing to my new boyfriend the reasons I was trepidatious regarding his plans for us both to eat better and get in shape. See, I'm fat again now. Healthy, squishy, constantly dissatisfied but not quite pathologically so. And certainly never so dissatisfied that I would resort to any of my old behaviour. I learnt my lesson. But in explaining my former "illness" to this man I felt my back up against a wall trying to justify that "no, it was not just an excuse to eat whatever I wanted" and "no, I couldn't just stop". But I felt like my arguments were pretty feeble and I started to feel ashamed. I started to realise he was right. 

He wasn't right, though. And he wasn't cruel in asserting what he thought. He just didn't get it. And with time increasingly stretching the gap between myself and my illness, I didn't get it anymore either. So I went back. I read it all and I get it now.

I don't miss the illness, but I do miss writing. Even if it is a bit shit. So this might turn into another blog. Or it might end abruptly after this full stop.