Yep. That's where I've been. Torturing ya'll with my mysterious absence from the world of ED Bites while I go soak up some tropical rays in the magical land of Maui.

Except things in the life of a person recovering from anorexia are never that simple.

I did wear a bathing suit. Yay me. I also wanted to run from view every second the damn thing was on. I have had issues with cutting in the (no-so-long-ago) past, and the scars on my legs made me almost as self-conscious as my blubber belly and thunder thighs. Yes I am aware that not everyone sees my body this way, but I do, and that's what I'm operating from. I did not look at the sight of myself enclosed in a sheath of Spandex and think oh how I love my body! My Earth Mother hips shall give birth to the next generation! My thighs are strong and glorious!

Mostly, I just looked at myself and thought ewwwwww....

That being said, I did manage not to engage in any overt ED behaviors while I was gone. I ate mostly what I was supposed to, didn't exercise on the sly, didn't cut, didn't purge. Which makes this the first trip I have abstained from all of the above since the beginning of the ED. There was, however, hell to pay. The thoughts were maddening. Wouldn't I feel better if I didn't eat? If I race walked around the lobby of the hotel? If I took laxatives? Had fun with sharp objects? It's like some sort of whiplash. You're moving forward at this spectacular rate and then WHAM! Reality hits and you realize it ain't over until it's over. I want so desperately for this to be over. I believed that since I've been doing all the right things, talking about all the right stuff, that things would feel better, too.

Nope.

This is the crappy part they don't tell you about. This is the part where so many people relapse: if you do see the light at the end of the tunnel, it sure does look like an oncoming train. And I know from experience that the AN behaviors will make me feel better. Temporarily. I also remind myself that if I want to get better and stay better, I have to remain in my target weight range (I'm bouncing around in and out of the low end of it) and cut out all the other crap, too. Therefore, losing weight will only mean more work in the long run because I'll have to gain it all back. What my psycho-diet co-workers fail to understand is that, for me, it is infinitely easier to lose weight than to gain it back. Stuffing yourself everyday for months on end isn't fun. Better than starving, but still not fun. The prospects of an all-you-can-eat buffet just don't cause the same excitement after refeeding.

Still, it was a good trip. I had an all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet every morning and remembered just how much I loved a good breakfast (as in eating almost 50% of my daily calories then). I have no idea if I gained weight or not. I was more active than usual, and biked down a volcano and went snorkeling along the coast of Lana'i. I also went whale-watching, and not just in the mirror.

I always thought I loved to travel, and I think I still do. But I love home more. I love the stability of a routine, love sleeping in my own bed, love my kitty.

Who is asking me to give her a tummy rub, so I really must go.