Today was one of those days when I was rudely smacked in the face with the reality of anorexia recovery. You look better a long time before you feel better.

Long time.

I am eating, and gaining weight, nearly to target. Go me. But this is where the real mind-numbing part comes in. I certainly don't look anorexic anymore, but I feel it. The thoughts. They're still there. I feel like I'm living in a fat suit, just waiting for the day when I can take it off. Except I know that I won't be able to- I'll just have to get used to it. It's not a fun prospect.

This is what they never tell you about. That it gets worse before it gets better.

I'm hanging in here as best I can. I outgrew a pair of jeans today. Again. That's four pairs of pants so far. I know they were meant for the sick Carrie and not the newer, healthier one, but I still don't like it. Though I didn't starve myself to say without words that something was wrong, the whole bones-sticking-out-everywhere look did do the trick. I don't know what to say, don't know how to describe my issues. How can I have an eating disorder? I ate three cinnamon rolls with my lunch.

But I don't have an eating disorder. I am recovering from one. Big difference.

Is my life in recovery now better than it was with anorexia? Absolutely. But it's still not all little fuzzy kittens and puppies and little yellow duckies. I keep holding on until the time when it gets easier, hoping that one day it will. I want it to be now, of course. Who wouldn't? Yet I have to find a way to live, however temporarily, in this in between time.

It's knowing that this time is temporary that keeps me going.