blanket turned prison

Christmas of 2021, I was in a higher-level care treatment center for eating disorders. Rather than being home with my four kids, I was getting weighed every day and had someone check my plate after each meal. I could only talk with my kids for 30 minutes each night, and because it was COVID, they could never come visit.

I also couldn't use a blow dryer or have shoes with laces.

I lived there for 3 months.

Here's the thing. An eating disorder starts out amazing.

It wraps you in assurance that it will solve all of your problems.

And often, it comes with the perk of losing weight, which brings a slew of compliments and praise.

So why wouldn't you keep going?

It keeps anxiety at bay.

Or so it seems.

It helps with depression.

Because you're skinnier, so how could life not be great?

It keeps out the monsters from the past by keeping your brain foggy.

It numbs. It quiets. It guards.

But then, it imprisons.

And by the time you realize it, it feels too late to escape. You can't survive without it, but you also can't survive with it.

And suddenly, you're at this crossroads. Do I let go of this blanket that has blocked all the pain? Or do I step into the pain in the hope of finding freedom?

***

In the beginning, it was a blanket

caressing me with gentle assurance.

Wrapping tighter and tighter,

soothing my pain and hurt.

A hug from a friend.

Keeping out the monsters,

comforting me in solitude.

A cocoon of safety. 

Building walls,

guarding my broken heart.

A watchtower.

Barring the windows,

locking the doors.

A prison.

***