I am completely and utterly drained. Physically, mentally, emotionally. 

In the last six days alone we’ve done 24 hours of yoga practice, and not your standard lie-down-and-breathe,-occasionally-lifting-an-arm-or-leg; this is full on gruelling and arduous, asanas one after another with brief spells of relaxation poses the minimum. Then there were a further 20 hours of lectures and philosophical theories, with self study on top. 

I’m constantly sweaty. My hair is a curly web of regrowthed and darkened spirals. My skin is pearly pale, without a lick of fake tan. I haven’t worn make up since before I left. I can feel every muscle and tendon fizzing away as they are pushed and pulled. I fall into bed at night and comer out immediately. 

I feel fantastic.
My body is so limber! All my joints are loosened and free. My muscles are lengthening day by day, my posture is improving, I’m conscious of when I shift my weight to one hip or cross my arms across my chest and instantly reposition to be centred and open. My mind is processing all this new and alien information and when it’s not having panics over the testing, it’s ecstatically taking it all in. 

This afternoon in class Rajeesh was a bastard and pushed us to the max. We did vinyasa ashtanga so it meant a lot of jumping about and quicker movements. It was pouring, and I mean pouring, with rain. The hammering on the tin roof of the studio meant we couldn’t hear anything Rajeesh was saying. The power was out so the fans were faultering. 

At one point I thought I was crying. What were these tears streaming down my face?! Then I realised it was sweat. Streams of it, cascading down my checks and being soaked into my mat. I looked at the others and saw circles of perspiration seeping through their clothing. 

One thing I have good flexibility in is bending at my hips and lowering my torso to the ground or to my knees. Rajeesh was coming around and elongating us (more like punishing us) and at one point he had him and I so intertwined I had my legs spread with his feet pushing them out, with my torso flat on the ground and face flat on the floor by his pelvis. Should someone have come into the studio, it would’ve appeared we were engaged in an indecent act of fellatio. Eva was pissing herself in the corner. I was absolutely shattered, but it felt so good (the stretch, not Rajeesh’s groin). I was in my element.

Yoga is saving my life. I don’t think ED would’ve ever been the murderer of me; no, he wouldn’t have killed me. I never would let myself get to that point, nor would those close to me allow it to happen. But he was definitely sucking the life out of me.
But I feel in our tug of war, I’m definitely the one gaining on the rope. I feel alive. I feel well. I feel happy. 

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