Ahoy there, recovery

I've been at sea for 1095 days. Swimming onwards towards recovery, dodging sharks, treading water and overcoming a few days lost at sea when I thought I was sinking.

Today marks three years since I was admitted to my eating disorders service. Three years since I sat, frail and pale in Mrs W's chair, my bones and body frozen to the core. Three Years when the diagnosis made no sense, nothing made any sense. I wasn't ill. Three years when I'd given up and thought my life was over. Forever. I thought I might as well drown.

Three. Whole. Years. 

I can't say I've ever really just DIVED freely into recovery, it's been more like jumping from a pier, trying to get away from something on land. It's still a bit like that - and there's a bit cloud of doubt hovering over me going forward. I've got to navigate a little bit longer.  

The recovery cove I had dreamt of seems less crystal clear and more murky and 'under construction' than I thought it would. I still don't think I am good enough to run freely through the sands - but I've got time yet.

But what I can say is after three years swimming, I can finally see the shore I've been aiming for. I don't know what's made me swim in a straight line in the past few months, but I've made up some of the ground I'd halted on at the start of the year. I've healed the wounds of the shark bites. 

If I was to provide a full account of the journey this far, It would take me as long again, but one thing that has occurred to me is just how quickly life passes us by. Stood still with anorexia on the end of that dark pier, the days of pain and hurt seem endless, but months and years are over in a flash. 

I can't get the last 1095 days back. But I don't think I'd want to do it any differently - I'd even keep the sharks and rough seas in too - because I've learnt more about myself since 2011, than I ever thought I would and I know I'll keep learning for a long time yet - but smooth seas never make a skilful sailor remember. 

To be honest, I thought recovery would be quick, a sprint not a marathon. I assumed that a quick physical descent into anorexia, the free fall bit, meant I wasn't ill enough to need the full works. The 15 years of keeping anorexia's abuse secret wouldn't affect recovery, right? Oh, Sarah.

I've had people try and push me under, I've had others cheer me on - some have even dragged me through the waters when I really didn't think I had the energy to keep moving. But I have. 

But sitting here, three years older, three years stronger, three years closer to freedom and 1095 days closer to recovery - one things I do know, is I've left anorexia stranded on a dinghy about a mile back - and she's not going to catch up now. Even her sharks are giving up nipping at my toes.

Ahoy there recovery, get the anchors ready. I'm on my way.