Dormant.

“It’s strange indeed how memories can lie dormant in a man’s mind for so many years. Yet those memories can be awakened and brought forth fresh and new, just by something you’ve seen, or something you’ve heard, or the sight of an old familiar face.”

― Wilson Rawls, Where the Red Fern Grows

The above quote beautifully articulates the power memory. Both a blessing and a curse. To be able to remember a loved one’s smile, hear their laugh, experience the joy anew when something triggers the memory. What happens when the memory awakens pain or longing for a time that was, problematic, to say the least? It feels as if my eating disorder remains dormant within me, sleeping soundly in between the folds of my brain, at times my flesh, waiting, sometimes begging, to be disturbed. This notion scares me most days. On some days it excites me.

Memories have been awakened, lately. In December of 2023 I decided to work on some health challenges I have been dealing with for awhile now. I have always had certain challenges with my digestive system and my eating disorder exacerbated the problems. I knew that diving into these challenges was bound to stir up some settled dust but I didn’t realize how hard and confusing it was going to be to try and fix years of abusing my body. My eating disorder thoughts have been raging. And with the thoughts the memories. Why does it still hurt so much to feel? Why do I still crave hunger like it’s a drug when I need to disappear into oblivion? Why am I addicted to pain and sadness? Am I a masochist? Why do I still feel so alone? It was so easy before, you know? I could just not. I could just stop. Eating, that is. When things got too hard I could just pretend, in my own self-destructive and imaginative way, that I was no longer a part of any of it. I could hide in the vastness of my biggest sweater, the same sweater that is now tight on (what my eating disorder considers) my swollen body. I could numb out every horrible thought and emotion by distracting myself with hunger and games of seeing how long I could withstand that which mere mortals needed for life. Back then I could be anything as long as it was skinny and invisible.

I am 29 years old and a part of me wishes that I could just do it over again. And the sad thing is, in this do-over that part of me would like to have, I’d just like to do my eating disorder better. I just want to finish it. That statement pops up a lot. Then, the true part of me asks myself what I mean by wanting to finish my eating disorder because I know that there would be no finishing it. My eating disorder would never be satisfied and I’d have buried myself too deep in the chasm. “What are you fucking finishing exactly?” I ask myself. I still don’t know.

It feels like I’m always in the center of a teeter-totter, playing this time-consuming game with myself; trying to see how many steps I can take in either direction before the weight of my choices sway me. How do I make the decisions I need to make when there is a part of me, a very strong part of me, that wants to capitulate and return to the familiarity and safety of trying to make myself small?

Recovery is hard. My eating disorder has grown quieter. But continuously making the choice to eat is (sometimes) exhausting. What I have been accepting more and more over the years is that it is okay to have these thoughts and struggles. It makes total sense that sometimes my past will be triggered. That doesn’t mean that my present self needs to dance with the thoughts that show up. I can acknowledge them and move on. Sometimes the moving on part is hard. Sometimes I want to stay. But I know now how pointless and fruitless that path is. I don’t want it.

So, I remember. And I may never forget. But I can forgive myself and move forward, taking all of the shameful, hurt, and lonely parts with me. Because with them, with the experiences, I can show up as a whole person instead of always trying to display the “appropriate” parts of me. With my experience living in my bones I can show up authentically with all of my choices that made me.

So, to honor my authenticity and the truth. It has been a struggle.