Now, aside from post previous, I haven’t mentioned old Ed in awhile. It’s a combination of two reasons; first and mainly, such material is being kept for my book (aiming for publishing August or so everyone!) and secondly, I am a tad ashamed of the fact that I need to get treatment and don’t like to talk about it.
But people are tentatively asking and I feel perhaps a slight insight may be called for.
So. Right now.
Each week I go to the Eating Disorder Clinic for an appointment with my one-on-one psychologist – let’s call her Kay. We work through some therapeutic tools and chat about the week gone by and I’m given tasks and challenges to undertake until our next meeting.
I fucking hate it.
It takes all I have every Monday to get in my car (well Deb’s; I sold Betsy Hay just last week to a lovely lass who assures me she will take fond care of her) and drive to Hamilton. It takes even more so to actually get out of the car once I’m there. Every week I flirt with the idea of not going, of making an excuse and hanging out in K-Mart instead, but -aside from one Monday where I was naughty and asserted “something had come up” – I’ve been there at 9.27am on the dot for Kay to permit me through the security locked doors.
I don’t want to go into the ins and outs of it – you’ll have to hustle up and buy Seedless Green Grapes to get that info – but it’s hard. Confronting, emotional, extremely challenging. Hard. I fucking hate it. But it needs to be done.
A few weeks ago Kay questioned whether the upcoming EEE – Exploring Europe Escapades – is really the best move right now. When I’ve finally admitted I need more than just a little aid and I’ve finally started to tackle some treatment, is it really in my best interest to flit off to foreign fields for a few months? I responded as I have to any one else questioning my trip.
Abso fuckibg lutely. (Is the right choice, that is).
Mate if I stayed here for much longer I’d go mental. (More so than I already am). I would actually lose the plot. Don’t get me wrong – I love my fam, friends and Cambridge in general (although in small bursts) but I need to get out. I am a nomadic explorer through and through, and all I want right now is to traipse around the world.
You know when you use highlighters on a piece of paper, and said sheet is in the sun and the colours heavily fade? The magentas evanesce into pale pinks, vibrant greens give into sickly pastel limes, sunny yellows seep into dissolution? That’s how I’m seeing life right now. Colour is still there, still seen and felt and experienced, but it’s fading, going pale on me, and I need to make it bright again. I need motivation to keep going to see Kay, and going away and seeing a bit more of the world is going to give me that burst of Stabilo Boss.
I’m going to have a picnic under the Eiffel Tower. Hike up hills in Switzerland. Lounge around London with my gal pals. Amp up in Amsterdam. Flurry round France, race around Rome, see all I can of Slovenia, bop about Belgium. Then I’m going to come home in a fizz of high lighted happiness and give treatment all I’ve got. With rainbow gusto.
I’m not an idiot; Ed will well and truly be coming with me on this trip. But when I’m out seeing the globe he isn’t quite so forefront – in the wonder of the strange surroundings, he busts a bit further to the back. But I want to, can’t wait to and need to go, so when I come back I’m more pumped to make sure less of him comes on the next trip.
Let’s go colour up my life a bit. (Well, a fair fucking lot).