Reading over some of my oldest entries is... enlightening and horrifying all at once. I did that to myself? I did that, without having a fucking clue what I was getting myself into? I did that, unknowingly digging myself into the one of the deepest holes I've ever made for myself? It is shocking to me to watch myself visibly, unashamedly, purposefully drive myself into starvation.

I mean, maybe it's a good thing that it does horrify me now to read all that old shit. Maybe it means that in the restriction sense, at least, I am a lot further on in recovery than I sometimes think I am. (Bulimia is another issue altogether, but that's okay :|.) I wish I believed that more sometimes.

But a very small part of me... wishes I still had that. That utter certainty that what I was doing was right. The very real, very significant sense that by restricting I was joining a large community that would accept me for me, and would support and encourage me when I needed it. The knowledge that I was not alone anymore. My craving for intimacy, fulfilled in a remote, virtual way, but fulfilled nonetheless.

I just keep on hoping and hoping that someday there will be a time when all of this changes for the better. Hoping is all I can do right now, as I wait for my life to come out of stasis and finally start having some real meaning again.