I told myself, once I move back, get a job, get a steady income, have a nice clean kitchen, and a grocery store nearby, I will totally get back on my meal plan.
All those things are in place, and I'm still only eating maybe 2/3 of my meal plan every day.
It'd be nice if I could just throw up my hands and say "I don't know what's wrong with me! Why, oh, why am I doing this? Why is it so hard to tackle recovery head-on?"
Thing is, though, I do know why. I don't feel safe right now. I'm flying out to San Francisco next weekend for a conference. I'm negotiating an overwhelming crush on someone. I'm negotiating a friendship with my ex. I'm back on the hamster wheel of work, dinner with friends, fundraisers, life in the city, and it doesn't feel like I'm going anywhere, so now I'm concerned about, y'know, My Future.
Being eating-disordered makes me feel safe. It's comforting, and familiar. So I guess I'm waiting until I don't need it to feel that way. G-d knows when that will be, or how it will come.
Or, I'm waiting for the realization that anorexia is the opposite of being safe. That I'm clinging to the side of a cliff, which feels safe, until I see the drop below and the nice, solid ledge above.