It doesn’t quite seem real sometimes. Any of it, but particularly the past month.
I’m okay, I think. I’m not that sick. It’s okay. Why am I going away?
I have to remind myself that I am sick – not as sick as some, true – but I am sick. My body is amazing and resilient and has managed to hang on in spite of tremendous abuse. I am not as thin as many of the other girls will be – in fact, I often pass for a “normal” thin – the kind of thin that can often be explained by running and a vegetarian diet. My dietician has spent much of the past two sessions preparing myself for this reality – preparing me for the fact that the eating disordered voice in my head is going to point out all the thinner girls within mere moments of my arrival and tell me all the reasons I don’t belong in treatment.
“But make no mistake, Jess, you’ve earned your place in treatment.”
So I leave this morning. I will drive halfway tonight and the rest of the way after church tomorrow. I will enjoy Sunday night, get in one final workout before I am forced to give up running for good, and take a walk on the beach before curling up in my hotel room.
Monday morning, I will check in to the Renfrew Center and embark on what I can only imagine will be 30 of the craziest days of my life.
30 of the most painful days of my life.
30 of the most frustrating days of my life.
30 of the most healing days of my life.
30 days to begin the rest of my life.
I love you all.