Do the Next Right Thing

I walked out on my nutritionist today.
First time in the four months since I started on my recovery from an ED. I feel bad, but most of all I feel late to the party. I should have been angry a long time ago. I should have been frustrated and aggravated for so long by now. Isn't that how it goes?
I've been eating every two hours, all of my meals, going to work and never missing one of the many appointments I have. My body is collapsing. My will is turning in on itself. It would be so much easier to skip a meal, not pack my snacks for the day, to sleep through my appointments, or call in sick to work again. But I'm not. I go to my support group, I try not to look at calorie contents, I try to care for myself in a way that is not without an enormous amount of effort.
It seemed as if I had come to terms with the fact that my body is just another body. My body is not a symbol of my worth.
But I am sinking. I am sunk.
I should have known that ten years of habits and thoughts was not going to go away in a year of intense therapy, of antidepressants and feeding schedules. I feel my body growing and with it my distrust of the recovery process. I'm unable to give in wholly to what my Nutritionist suggests because my body is betraying me. And that's the problem, it's not my body's betrayal to be anything but perfect, but instead my own betrayal to not accept anything less than perfect.
Before the idea that I am Whole becomes truth I have to accept that recovery is not going to be perfect. That it's okay and I will do the Next Right Thing.

When We Talk About Fate

The last six months have been difficult, to say the least. But I find myself waking up each morning a little more hopeful than the last.
I know now that even if my relationship ends, I lose my job, I lose money, I lose Love, I still have myself. This is Big. It's a Big Idea. One I never thought with which I would be comfortable. I will have myself, I will not be alone.
I've spent the majority of my life feeling lonely. Feeling an overwhelming lack of being. My nutritionist calls it "feelings of inadequacy." But it was more than that. It was a knowledge, or so I thought, that there was something inherently different about me. That I was missing something so fundamentally human, I would never be whole. So I tried to fill the holes. But nothing fit. It was never enough.

I am now in 25 and I found what I was looking for. It was Me. It was the "I." It was April. In all her emotional, quirky, funny, and romantic Being.



The Beginning, or About Me

I'm not sure where to start.
I'm 25. I live in Seattle. I have a job. I have a Pug. I have a boyfriend. My name is April.
As of today, I have been seeing a therapist for 9 months. A psychiatrist for 8. A nutritionist for 1 month. The sum of my days can be measured in insurance bills, time off requests, and calories.
I hope I'm not too vague- and I'm sure there will be more than enough time and tears to fill a thousand blogs in the future.

Update 8/27/2012
Therapy: One year
Psychiatrist: 11 months
Nutritionist: 4 months.
Pug: 8 months.