My captor held me hostage for a long time. He relentlessly belittled me and put me down. He pulled me into an isolated world of just us. He controlled everything. He drastically limited what I ate and demanded excessive physical exercise. But somewhere in this dark tangled web I began to rely on my captor. It was us verses the world. He told me he was making me strong and I believed him. His rules and requirements became part of my life and I felt purpose and meaning through them. I felt strong. And ironically, I felt in control.
I know this next statement will be very hard for most of you to understand. I miss my eating disorder. I miss his voice, his rules, his plan. He isn't all the way gone but he's not a constant in my life. Some days I get so tired of fighting the battle to recover that I long for my days as a hostage to my eating disorder. It seems easier, more comfortable, and safer. Even as these thoughts pour out into words on a page, part of me sees the flaw in this. But for now, it is what it is and I remain Stockholm Syndrome in San Antonio.
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