The Box

“To some it might’ve seemed callous, the way she boxed up her pain and set it aside, but I knew her well enough now to understand. She had a heart the size of France, and the lucky few whom she loved with it were loved with every square inch – but its size made it dangerous, too. If she let it feel everything, she’d be wrecked. So she had to tame it, shush it, shut it up. Float the worst pains off to an island that was quickly filling with them, where she would go to live one day.”

I stumbled across this quote while reading “Library of Souls,” the third installment in the Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children series.

Sitting on a plane, reeling from incidents that played out over what was supposed to be a relaxing vacation, I was desperately trying to control the thoughts. To quiet the demons. Then BAM!, this quote falls into my lap.

It helped me quickly make sense of the past couple days’ events. It helped me understand why I was itching to open the ED box. It helped me understand the analogy of even having the box.

You see, for a long time, I’ve struggled with the idea of recovery. Does one ever actually recover from the trauma associated with having a distorted relationship with food and hatred for one’s body?

I think the answer is – not really.

But, I’ve come to understand my reality a bit better.

When I reached a place that I assumed was “recovered,” I created a box. This box is where I store my eating disorder. It’s kept away, safely guarded under lock and key. Every single day is a decision to keep the box locked and stay focused on my health and sanity. But, every day also provides an opportunity to slip and open the box.

Times of stress, times of heavy emotions, times where I feel out of control – I tend to slip back into disordered thought patterns or behaviors. This is usually very confusing for me. I’m “recovered,” right?

But! The box is comforting. It’s like the old, ratty security blanket you store in the attic. You don’t want to have to use it, but when push comes to shove, the right concoction of uncomfortableness will inevitably have you climbing those attic stairs to pull it out for a bit.

This is what I do with my ED box. When I am uncomfortable and unsure how to cope, I bring out the keys and unlock it.

An unlocked box is dangerous. Unlocking the box, opening it, even just a crack leaves room for the insistent thoughts. And over time, if the box isn’t closed, those thoughts become more tempting. Before I know it, it’s not only an open box, but an empty box.

I take on the shape of old me. Behaviors become normalized. Food becomes the enemy. Lies become commonplace.

Oh, but the high. That high of control that I’ve found unattainable any other way. I’ve missed it, like an old friend I haven’t seen in a while. It feels amazing. Breathing becomes easier, tension lessens – with each skipped meal, I feel invincible.

But the rational part of me knows it can’t last long. It isn’t worth it. All of the work, the quite literal blood, sweat, and tears. The countless hours loved ones have spent holding my hand, rooting for me. The money spent on therapy. The time lost. As tempting as that control may be, relapse isn’t worth it. Ever.

So I gently place ED back inside the box, shut the lid, and lock it.

The euphoria from skipped meals along with the guilt from eating – that will linger for a bit, like a bad trip or a ruthless hangover. But, I know I am strong enough to leave the box closed, at least for a while. Until next time.