Just Another Crazy Sunday Afternoon

Sometimes recovery is too much.
There is too much emotion.
Too much going on in my head.
Too much to do.
Too much to figure out.
Too much to handle.

I just had one of those moments in the bright, bustling QFC on Broadway.
Er not a moment because it lasted like 15 minutes.

I had come from a photo shoot with the talented Angela Ciccu Robinson and was feeling fancy fine.
I needed to get lunch and dessert before I go get my hair done for free.
It's Sunday.
The sun is out.
Everything is fine. No great actually.

When I start to second guess my lunch choice-Greek salad with rice.
Then I see what's on sale--maybe I should opt for that because I'm drowning in medical bills just within one month of treatment.
Then I see fried chicken--maybe I should challenge myself.
My heart starts to race and the voices start to talk.
The therapist, the me and the ED.
I don't know what's right or wrong.

I grab the salad and the rice.

I remember I want jam because I realized how yummy it is on English muffins from my brunch with a friend yesterday.

My stomach growls, I need to hurry or else I know I'll binge when I'm home.
Failure failure failure.

I get there and I see the nut butters. Oh I haven't tried that one. Oh it's so expensive. Oh it's your recovery.

Fuck what fucking jam do I get. Old lady cuts me off and gets her plum preserves. Fuck you lady.
OMG I just said fuck you to an old lady.

Why am I angry was I not just fine literally a minute ago?

Grab jam and sunflower butter and make my way to the next isle.

What did I need oh what did I need?

Fuck. Dessert. I don't know what is a normal portion size for dessert unless they stick it in front of my face in treatment. There is no dietitian here. I just won't eat it. Yes you will. no I can't. Yes you will or else you'll binge because you'll know you didn't eat fully on your meal plan and have wiggle room. I grab and put back and grab and put back.

I end up with cookies that are fucking $4 for like 4. And now I'm too fucking scared to eat them.

I'm home and I'm shaking while typing this and my heart is racing.

And then there's the emotional shit.
Like a friend that has completely abandonded me.
Issues with my parents.
Comparison to the girl I just saw running on my block.
Does my neighbor think my music is too loud?
Guilt.
Shame.
Hate.

My mind snaps back to the thought that my cabinets are full of food for once and the idea is exciting and scary.

I'm doing this recovery thing, things are changing, I am changing and it's exciting but it is so scary.

I feel uneasy, I feel unsettled, I feel like I am not myself. I am not myself.
That's the point I guess.

I can't explain this but it's like when there's something bad going on then I'm bad if there's something good going on then it's somehow still bad. there's no right there's no peace there's just thoughts, anxiety, pressure, anger, excitement repeat.

I just want to be.