I have been changing who I am in my life lately and has been hard to capture it all.  It has been a painful and wonderful process.  As with actual injuries like the broken foot followed by stress fractures in the same foot I’ve suffered, recovery is always painful and wonderful . . . taking those first few steps when you’re healing but not healed, the fear of the pain returning with one wrong step.

There are some things that are truly wonderful.  I feel mentally present in my life in a way I have sometimes not felt.  I feel my old thoughts and feelings returning.  I am becoming more critical in my thinking,  I am more in control of shaping events, less reactive.

The downside is I am more vulnerable and less trusting.  I have had important conversations with BFD and I am truly uncertain what our future holds.  It’s painful and wonderful, healing, but not healed.  Everything between us is raw, still, from our discussions and I am embracing and withdrawing from him over and over again.

I am afraid that everything is on the verge of collapse all the time, which is to a degree absurd because everything is always on the verge and it never collapses.  I am always on the cusp of disaster and everything always works out.  I have been the beneficiary of the luckiest breaks, the happiest coincidences, and the extension of indulgences where I deserved no special treatment.  No matter how badly I fuck up my life — and I do, through inattention or disregard or an inflated sense of entitlement or the myriad other venial sins I commit over and over again — everything is ultimately okay.

BP said recently that I have to learn from my life experience.  He said:  “you were chosen to do what you do.  You walk the line of failure every day.  But what you haven’t embraced is you are who you are.”   He told me I am a conduit, an instrument.  And he’s right.

Some things have been going well.  I look great.  I am back at the mid point of my preferred range again since I deliberately gained 5 pounds at the start of summer to experiment with a slightly heavier body.  I was getting a lot of comments from friends/family that 115 was too thin and I should gain weight.  Even BFD started taking me grocery shopping and commenting upon my eating.  When I gained the weight, and then bitched when I bloated to 122 after sushi, he told me not to lose, but to exercise: “you do not need to be smaller.”  Thanks, honey.

But I was not happy.  I wasn’t terribly unhappy about it, as I continued to enjoy brunch and cocktails and heavily caloric things, but I have kept my eye on the scale — continuing to weigh myself daily, writing down weight and body fat.  My weight was stable and I slowly lost over the last month or two.  Over the past week, I have dropped 5 pounds.  Obviously, it was mostly water, but I have been noticing a distinct difference over the past 5 days with how I look after the last 2.

Now, I am thrilled by how I look: thin, but with some definite muscle definition.  I am working on that elusive dancer body, to which I am not genetically predisposed, but hoping to get as close as I can, and every time I glance in the mirror and see a flash of calf muscle, I think “fuck, yeah.”  (In my head, I am profane and apt to quote Team America: World Police.)

As I have been on this journey of self-discovery, I have been refining and redefining my style.  I am comfortable wearing short skirts, tight jeans, and outfits that attract attention.

I have basically been this size for 15 months (although now I am more of a 2/4 than just a 4), so it isn’t being thin that makes me want to stand out more — it’s that I feel great in my own skin and great inside my head.  There are times when I lose that feeling, times when I want to hide, but I am still experiencing the healing that is both painful and wonderful.

I do not know what will happen within my life and I am always terrified that I will suffer a new injury — mental, emotional, or physical — and that the process will have to begin again.  But what I know is that I will recover again.  I survive always through my own skills and through the grace of God.  No matter what, it will be painful and wonderful, and I will still be here.

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