I’ve been discharged from treatment for 25 days or something. I’ve, truly, never been happier. Work, friends, outpatient, and family have been such great areas of support and love.
I see my therapist twice a week and my dietitian once a week.
Lately our sessions have been pretty light, other than trauma sessions, and have included lots of laughter. Which is great.
My therapist asks me how I’m doing with my meal plan. I’ll usually say “pretty good actually!” And I mean it. I think about how after work I hung out with non-treatment friends and ate the same thing they did because they didn’t even have a thought about it. I think about that morning I woke up and made the active choice to make a quality breakfast. So yea, that counts as “pretty good.”
What I fail to think about is the continuous lack of fluids, the fact that in my mind snacks are extremely optional, breakfast happens if I have the energy, and I don’t even bother to bring a lunch to work 80% of the time.
My dietitian uncovered those truths in our session this week.
Was I lying about how I’m doing? No. I’ve been kind of blinded by my healthy mental state that I haven’t even been aware of my behaviors creeping in. I am, mentally, better than I have ever been. But these damn behaviors are second nature to me.