The exclamation point at the end of that makes it seem like I’m overly excited, but to be honest, I’m having mixed feelings. The small (very tiny) part of my brain that realizes I’m in deep crap right now is going, “Seriously?! WTF, mate?! You are going to die without treatment!” The other half of me thinks, “Oh, bologna. You’re a solid X pounds from your low weight and even at your low weight you were perfectly functional.”
So I don’t really know what to make of it. I was discharged from treatment today, apparently ATA (Against Team Advice), which doesn’t even make sense, given that my team is the one who made the decision. But, if you’ve ever been in treatment, you know that everything is really “your choice” — so by not finishing meals, I apparently made this choice.
Honestly, by restricting, I was FINALLY able to be in a headspace that allowed me to participate in groups. The first few weeks, when I was [mostly] completing meals, I was so overfull and overanxious that I was completely worthless. I couldn’t think straight. But now, finally, I am thinking straight and able to speak up in group and make [arguably] good points.
So what’s the problem?
I came home, ate lunch, and told my mother I was going back to work. Finally, for the first time in weeks, something is motivating me. I’ll go back to work. I’ll eat [safe foods only, please]. I’ll actually make a difference at something, instead of sitting on my butt for 5 hours a day having meals and supplements pumped into me. I’ll finally be able to pay my bills, which have sat unpaid for the last 6 weeks and which creditors keep calling around the clock about.
And if I lose a few pounds when I go back to work, why does that matter? Why does it matter what the number is if I’m actually doing something I ENJOY and if I’m actually able to COPE with life?