I have hesitated to post on this subject, largely because of quite superstitious beliefs that I would jinx myself. But maybe I'm ready.

I think this is what is known as recovery.

I think.

I'm not recovered, so don't get me wrong. But I can exist in this world quite separate from my eating disorder, even if it is just for short periods of time.

I can go to a chocolate festival and enjoy myself. Eat some chocolate there, take some home, have it sit in my fridge and my cupboards and not obsess about it. I've had enough, I'm satisfied, there's no need for more right now. But I savored what I bought and had a good time with a friend.

We also stopped at a bead store on our way back to the bus stop. So for a while, I carried supplies that could take me to heaven- beads and chocolate.

Nice.

It was all quite normal. Even earlier this evening, when I got the beginnings of a migraine- pain that seemed to echo, nausea that had me curled up on the couch- I nibbled some crackers, took a few Advil and followed it up with a short nap. Normal.

Miserable and uncomfortable, but normal.

My self-esteem is still pretty limited. I don't look at myself and feel overcome by a warm, fuzzy feeling. I beat myself up for every mistake I make. It's such an ingrained part of me. But I also don't feel the need to deprive myself of food for some random screw-up, either. I do, however, feel the need to crack down on my laziness and time wasting abilities and my messy apartment. For my slowing jewelry sales (no, it's not a pitch).

I don't know quite what I'm dealing with right now. I'm not used to it, not used to not thinking about food all the time. There's a lot more time in the day than I originally thought. Then again, the time goes by much faster when I'm not staring at the clock and counting the time until I can eat next or have to exercise. I've struggled with depression for more than half my life. "Happy" is an alien feeling. I don't know what happy will bring. Could it mean that I get utterly lazy and turn into a big fat slob?*

I'm testing entirely new waters here.

I know someday, somewhere a person will say, "Doesn't recovery feel good?" Not really. Not always. Sometimes it feels good. Mostly okay. And sometimes kind of crappy.

In other words, it feels like life.

*Interesting how the words "fat" and "slob" were combined in that sentence. I'm doing kind of stream-of-consciousness writing, so I think it says a lot about our culture where the two adjectives are interchangeable. Even though I know several skinny slobs.